


The Butterfly Effect: Jill Valentine Alternate Ending to Absolution

by TheLadyFrost



Series: Absolution Chambers [3]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Absolution, Alternate Ending, Angst, F/M, Romance, Smut, strong explicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 49,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12110622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFrost/pseuds/TheLadyFrost
Summary: So this has been in my brain since I finished Absolution. It keeps haunting me. I can't let it go. I have to put it here. The alternate endings DEMAND it. I have to. The muses won't let me NOT put it. It's Jill's alternate ending. She has to have one. Because the idea WILL NOT let go. So here it is. The OTHER way it could have gone. And that's what life is. It's what love is. It's what happens we're looking one way and we start looking the other.





	1. Chapter 1

+Author's note:

The clamoring of love for my Chris I've created in this story is touching. He's really, well, he's really just utterly devoted to her. And Leon, the wonderful, amazing, broken mess of Leon…*sigh*…I know the magic of him. I know the power of him. I know he's good and soft and so very loving. And so very lost. But he's not an easy man to love. Not at all. But Chris? He's not lost…but he is. Because he's been chasing Jill Valentine all his life. Should we let him catch her? He deserves to.

Again, this is my thing, so it's massive. Just huge. But it's also the most prolific I've been in days. I can't give my other works all my attention while the teeth of this one just keeps dragging me. I have to finish it. So I can exorcise the demon. There was a lot of 90's Pop on my Echo while I wrote this. And it poured out of me like vomit…or blood…or both. Word vomit. Verbal diarrhea. Wide Awake by Katy Perry was a popular choice. It's how Leon and Jill might have gone if they just gave up and got out of the way.

I'll split it into smaller chapters. But I gotta put it down. I gotta get it out of me. So down it goes. Aha. Oy. And Absolution becomes Leon's story…and Jill's. The way it has to be.

It starts…with Claire staying behind the day they bring the baby. Claire stays. And as we know…things…have a way of changing with a single flap of a butterflies wings.

Slainte.

….

The Girl who was almost a sandwich: The Long and Winding Tale of Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, and the Boy Who Stood Between

ALTERNATE ENDING: AND ALL THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN….

"Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else."

― Sarah Cross, Kill Me Softly

:::::::::::::::::THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Fuck you all. Get off my property."

The hardest thing that ever happens, sometimes, is knowing when the love you bear, the love that bleeds you and needs you and kneads you…will never be enough. Jill watched him go. She watched him turn and walk back into that house and it cost her, in ways that couldn't even begin to understand…she died there. She died watching him go.

She'd died on that rooftop beside him while Rebecca's blood had swirled around them both. That's what they were to each other—blood and death and pain. And he deserved so much better than that. Than this. Even this…he wasn't meant to have. Jesus Christ. She was going to die here.

But she'd promised. She'd sworn. She'd stood there and let him go and she kept her promise. She turned, watching the other two that stood with her. The best friends she'd ever had, the other pieces of her triumvirate. Her family.

They stood in the dying sun and watched him go. And she saw their life together, like a shadow over him as he moved. She watched him go and loved him. So painfully, so completely. And sometimes? That's what love was. It was letting go…when you'd held on too long. She said, quietly, to the pair of them, "Claire…take the baby and go. Take the baby in that house and stay with him."

Claire held her eyes. Two women, and the third like a ghost between them, in love with the same man. They held eyes now and Claire…Claire…she nodded. She just nodded. Sometimes there were no words that were needed to speak to the need that swelled, dwelled, and lingered like an echo between them.

Chris met her eyes. Jill held that look as well. He said, "Be sure, Jill. You can stay. It's ok."

What was that on his face now? It was something. It reflected her, clearly. And he was so careful. So utterly careful. He only showed her what he thought she wanted to see. It was the most infuriating and most reliable thing about him. He would protect her at all costs. From herself, from him. It was misplaced but so very loving.

Claire touched her arm. They locked arms over the baby between them. And Jill said, softly, "He needs his best friend. Not me. He and I? Not now. I made a promise. I mean to keep it. This is how I honor that promise. This."

The tears sprang fast and sharp into Claire's eyes. They held arms; two women with so much between them. Two women who'd loved the same men. One still stood there with them, waiting like the patient soul he'd always been. The other? Waiting beyond the door where the storm that he was had taken him. Claire held her eyes and her arm. Jill drew her strength and passed it now into the other woman. It was her final gift to him. The baby shifted in Claire's arms. Jill touched that little face and kissed her tiny mouth. "Take the baby inside, Claire." And it sounded so sure and so solid. It sounded so strong. Was it her speaking?

Or was it Chris? It sounded like Chris. It was so reasonable and calm. Surely it was Chris. She glanced down to see if his hand was up her ass like a puppet making her speak. Nope. It was her. She was being…what? Reasonable? It was something.

Claire said nothing else. She took the baby and went up the porch.

Jill stood, looking out into the long skyline. She watched the sun bleed rich and red and orange over the far horizon. It was a beautiful sky here. There was nothing else on earth like a Montana sky. She watched it and felt her heart throb…and she heard the door close.

She felt it close.

And she knew…there was no opening it again. Now? It was his time to walk this path without her. She'd kept her promise. "Rebecca," she said softly, "I've done what I promised…I've given him back to you."

Jill moved toward the truck. She opened the door and climbed inside. She waited, breathing, as the world dipped and swirled around her. This is what it was, she thought desperately, this is what letting go meant. It meant staying when you wanted to follow. It meant, closing the door on what might have been. It meant…saying goodbye to that life she could see here. She watched it all die with the son that shimmered so far away. It was hours and days of love and laughter with him, beside him…it meant keeping your promise. It meant knowing when enough…was finally enough.

She'd watched the undead rise time and time again in her life. But it wouldn't rise here today. She couldn't bring back Rebecca Chambers to love him. And she couldn't go through that door and do it herself. She'd promised. She'd meant it. She wanted him. She wanted to hold him and love him and keep him. But she couldn't.

She just wasn't that strong.

Chris climbed in beside her. So quiet. So very quiet.

He said nothing. He gunned the engine and pulled away. The sound of that hemi was loud in the quiet. And he pulled away from that house.

That house of love where she would never live.

He drove silently, smoothly. She stared out the window, feeling the shaking that started in her body. It was bad. It was really bad. She shook like she had hypothermia. But there was no Leon Kennedy there to hold her. No Leon Kennedy to cup her close and love her. He wasn't there to touch her and kiss her and bring her back. He wasn't there. He was gone. There was no more Leon Kennedy in her was nothing but silence and the long dark that spilled rich and blue across the bleeding horizon.

She didn't have anything left to give him. She didn't have anything left at all. She couldn't help him anymore. She could do this. She could let him go. It was all she had left to give him. It was all she could offer.

And she gave him, this last time, she gave him the music in her. She closed her eyes and gave it to him.

It's probably what's best for you…I only want the best for you…and if I'm not the best then you're stuck…I tried to sever ties and I…ended up with wounds to bind…like you're pouring salt in my cuts..and I just ran out of band-aids..I don't even know where to start…cause you can bandage the damage…you never really can fix a heart…even though I know what's wrong…how can I be so sure..if you never say what you feel…I must have held your hand so tight…you didn't have the will to fight...I guess you needed more time to heal..I just ran out of band-aids..I don't even know where to start…cause you can bandage the damage…you never really can fix a heart…

It felt like bleeding all over the seats of that big truck. It felt like blood from her mouth. It felt like she was vomiting blood all over and was bleeding to death inside.

Beside her, he felt the moment it broke her. He felt it shatter on the ground and burst, a hundred thousand shards of pain and loss and regret. It was like a grenade made of glass and grief lobbed into the center of her soul. He closed his eyes and waited for it. And she didn't disappoint him. She didn't just grieve…she died doing it.

She put her face into her hands and hunched over in the seat. She felt the pain of it lance into her body and bleed. It struck, a flurry of knife wounds, stabbing and slashing and killing her. She made a sound like a keen, high and soft. She pulled against the seatbelt and tried to curl into the pain of it. It came out of her mouth like a broken, blinding thing. It stole her breath and broke her into pieces. She looked at her hands to see if she was still whole. Would she see the pieces of herself there in her own shaking grip? Could you explode into pieces and still breathe?

She grabbed the dashboard, hard, listening to it pop beneath the weight of that grief. It came out of her in a low, aching, grueling sob. It felt like being punched and raped and lying there. It felt like lying there on the table while that bastard had put that plunger in her fucking neck and took away her choice. She'd stared up into that empty face and died.

She died here, now, curled around the pain of what she'd let go. Go back, her mind said, now. Go back now and get him. He's free. She's dead. Go get him. She's dead.

And she whispered it now, "She's dead." And it broke from her mouth like a curse.

She'd loved him. She'd loved him so completely. She'd stood on that mat and promised. She'd swore it. And Rebecca? Rebecca had died. She'd cost him everything. She'd loved him and lost him everything. It was what happened when you were loved by Jill Valentine.

She could never go back. She could never have him. She could do this for him. She could let him go. She'd never, ever, risk it by going back. How would she live with herself if she broke that promise and it cost him that baby? If it cost him his life? She'd said: I can live with you not with me. I can't even understand the other option. And she'd meant it. Save him, she'd thought as they restarted his dying heart, and I will let him go. And they'd saved him. It was time to let him go.

She pictured Wesker. His face as he commanded her, "Kill for me, Jill. Kill. KILL." And she'd killed. Each death, each spill of blood, each moment of horror had taken more pieces of her until she was nothing more than a shattered mirror of her former self. And it hadn't been enough. No. He'd taken Chris next and broken him. She pictured his face as he'd smiled, smiled, and turned her best friend against her. As he'd stood above her and stolen her will to live. And he'd taken this. He'd taken Leon Kennedy from her. He'd taken even that. Even that, she'd never have. He'd gotten everything from her now. He'd taken everything.

She had nothing left to give.

The rage burst through the grief and she struck the dash, kicked the floor, and screamed. She sobbed, shaking, and slapping and screaming. She'd given it all now. There was nothing left of her. She was empty. She was done. She was flat.

She was a Jill Sandwich.

She kept sobbing out, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." For what? For everything. For everything she'd done, she'd lost, she'd cost. She was so sorry. And all she could do now is let it kill her. It was trying. Each flurried blow of it was raping a grief filled scream from her as she pulled her hair and curled around herself with it.

And it was enough. It was fucking enough. More than enough.

The truck whipped to the side of the road and stole her breath with the surprise of it. The dark had bled to black and blue and orange now, a beautiful tableau of emptiness. It was a cloudless sky. It would be a cool night.

She was sobbing too hard to care. She knew he was coming for her. She knew he would touch her and she couldn't have it. Wouldn't have it. Didn't want it. She didn't want the love. She didn't want the comfort. She just wanted to bleed here and die and be done with it.

Jill jerked off her seat belt and curled around herself, punching the dashboard and screaming like a thing possessed. When did it stop? When did it finally stop? What am I fighting for?! Leon had yelled at her and she'd felt it. She'd felt it. Because she didn't know either. What was she fighting for? She'd lost everything to the fight. She was nothing. A shell. A shadow. She was a broken thing with nothing left to hold her here but regret. And she was nothing but rage and grief.

She tried to flee across the truck because she knew he was coming. And he'd hold her and break her and leave her like a splattered mess of blood and guts on the side of the road. He'd hold her and she'd fall apart and never get back up. She didn't want him to touch her and spoil himself. So good, he was so good and she was rotten, ruined, and death to anyone that tried to love her.

Her door jerked open and she shook her head, she shook it hard, denying. She was halfway in his seat already and he grabbed the bar above her door to leverage himself up to grab her. She slapped at him and tried to kick him away.

It might have been funny if it didn't break his fucking heart to see her do it. She was trying to deny the comfort of it. Why? He grabbed her ankle and pulled her back across the cab of the truck toward him. She went to hit him and the pain on her face nearly killed him. Fucking Leon Kennedy, he was going to drive back there and kick him in the balls. He grabbed her flailing arm and jerked her out of the cab. She shook again, shoving at him. "No! Don't! I can't..please don't! Just…"

She couldn't let him hold her now. She couldn't do it. If she let him hold her, she'd fall apart. And she was already so broken. She was glue and tape and pieces wedged together to resemble something human. She was a Picasso, all sharp edges and interpretation. She wasn't even Jill Valentine anymore.

Chris said nothing. He wouldn't, she thought wildly, he wouldn't say anything now. What could he say? What could anyone say? It was done. It was over. And she just had to feel it. She had to feel it now and die. It was all she could do.

She shoved again at his chest and he let her. She pushed him back, crying. And he let her do that too. It was ok. He could take her pain if she'd let him. Keep hitting me, he thought desperately, keep hitting me until it's done. She shoved him again, shouting now, "Don't! Don't! Don't…please don't! Stop trying to hold me! I'll get you killed! Just go! Go away and leave me alone! Just go away!"

Was she kidding? Who the hell did she think he was? He wasn't the guy who went away. Ever. Did she think he was Leon Kennedy? He didn't run.

He said now, softly, "Shut up…you stupid woman."

"Don't…Chris….I'll get you killed. Just leave me here and run away. Just run. I'm so sorry." And she went forward like she'd fall down.

He pulled her into him. And she didn't have anything left to fight. She was so tired. So tired. And she couldn't fight anymore.

He never had the words. Her guy. He never had the words. But he had this.

He grabbed the back of her head, looped his other arm around her and jerked her in so hard it stole her breath. She buried her face against his neck and screamed. She screamed it now, sobbing. She came apart there against him, sobbing like she'd shatter like glass and turn into dust.

She leapt and put her legs around him. He held her around his front like a monkey while she tried to get closer. He wanted to pull their skin aside and bring her into his bones to heal her. He wanted to pull her in until he could shield her and seal her there and protect her. Instead? He just kept holding on.

She felt him. She felt him shaking as he held her. So tight. So utterly tight. And the rage in him a fine, trembling, frightening thing. Jill grabbed handfuls of his shirt and jerked, shoving, sobbing. It was a storm, a frenzy, horrid and awful and painful. He didn't say a word. Not a fucking word. He just held her while she died.

And when she sank, he went with her, he went to his knees with her on the side of the road and held on. Keep holding on, she thought desperately, I'm going to fade away if you don't keep holding on. I'm so lost, I'm so lost..keep holding on. But she just kept sobbing out, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Didn't she get it? He didn't know how to do anything but hold on. It was all he had. All he'd ever had. He just kept holding on. Sorry, she cried, so sorry. For what? She didn't do anything but all the way. So, she'd loved…all the way. And she'd lost…all the way. And he seethed. He seethed. He seethed inside for her.

She gasped, grappled, and gripped now at the back of his shirt. Soaked, his shirt was soaked against her face. He didn't care. He was full of so many things. So many things. And he'd never been the man who had the words.

The rage was so completely painful. It stole his soul. It bled madness in his blood like a living thing. The pain of it was nearly blinding. He couldn't do anything for her now. He couldn't do anything for her at all. But kneel there and love her.

The rain came, soft and cold, it spilled down on them as he knelt there. What could he give her? What could he do? There was no one to punch, no one to shoot, no one to fight. This fight? It was all hers. He had no power here. And that was the worst thing of all. It was watching Cathy come at him to eat him. And watching Rebecca bleed and die on that roof top. And it was Jill. It was always Jill. Jill going out the window. Jill dying. Jill…it was always Jill. How did he protect her? How did he help her? How did he heal her?

And she was finally still, finally quiet. She looked down to see if she had bled and burst and left nothing behind in the mud. But she was still there. She was still alive.

Maybe.

Her gripping hands released. She made a sound and he shifted. He took her face and turned it up to him. His thumbs skimmed her cheeks. What was that on his face? What was it? It was something that tried to shield her even as it saved her. There was such power in him, such strength, it fairly radiated out of him like magic. She wanted to curl up inside of him and die there; safe and warm.

She said, in the pouring rain, "How do I do this? How?"

And he gave her the words. The only fucking ones he had. "I don't know. But I'm here for you. I'm here. I can't tell you how to fight it, how to fake it, how to get over it. But I'm here."

She grabbed his wrists and held on. "I had to let him go. I had to. Right? Right?"

Chris scanned her face, rapidly. "You had to let him go."

"Yeah. Yeah. Why does it hurt so fucking bad?" Her voice broke and broke his heart.

"Because it was real. And because it's over. And nothing hurts worse than saying goodbye, Jill. Nothing. Ever."

"Oh god," She gasped, sobbing so softly, "Don't let go ok? Don't let go of me."

"Never. Ever. Ever." His voice hitched with it and surprised him. Damnit. She was so far in him it was like a plague. Like poison. He could never let her go.

And she collapsed against him again. The weeping was soft this time and broken. He picked her up and carried her back to the truck. She was so boneless in his arms, like a doll.

She curled against him as he tucked her inside and got behind the wheel. She cuddled his arm against her as he drove. And he shifted his palm. He rolled it up and she took it and held it so tight that he felt it hitch in his breath.

And he listened. He listened as she gave that bastard her music.

This will be the last song…about all the shit that went wrong…you burned me, I burned you…yeah all of that's true…I'm sick of that same old tune..this is the last song I'm ever gonna sing about you…the last time I write I can't live without you…come on melody..set me free..I have to move on…yeah…you're gone…this is my last song…

She collapsed against him. He held her there and said nothing. He'd never been a man with the right words. Kennedy had them. He had them all. And he'd broken her.

He'd broken her.

Without even trying, he'd come into her life and broken her. The right words? No. He'd never given her the only ones that mattered.

They drove quietly for some time. She finally said, softly, hoarsely, "I'm sorry."

Chris glanced down at her and back at the road. "For what?"

He sounded so gruff. She glanced up at his face in the darkness. The night had spilled long and thick around them. The rain was soft and peaceful. It cocooned around them as he drove. She was absently rubbing the soft hair on his forearm. Her hand crept up under his sweater further to trace the smooth skin in the bend of his arm.

"That wasn't…you shouldn't have seen that. I'm sorry. I bet it was fucking scary. What a mess I am. The perfect storm, right?"

His grip tightened and she slid closer to him. He shifted his arm and she slid under it now. Her arm went around his back and under the sweater enough to touch his stomach. Her other arm wrapped around his waist. She put her face in his chest. Quietly, he said, "No sorry. Ever. That? That's all you, kid. That's your way. And mine. I…"

He trailed off and was quiet for so long, she glanced up again to see if he was going to finish. He was struggling with something here. She touched his face and he took the truck into a spot in the parking lot of the motel where they were staying before they went back to HQ. The vacancy sign flashed red and blue over the wet pavement and the surreal rainy sky.

She watched him roll his neck. This would be hard for him. He was so big, so much, so full of things and struggled so much with showing it. He was nothing she'd ever known before. A big man, he often dwarfed those around him in sheer size. But that wasn't what kept you coming back. His size, it was nothing, next to the size of the heart inside that big chest. He was all heart. And it beat for her now and bled for her.

She could look at his profile all day. She touched his mouth and he kissed her palm, absently, almost thoughtlessly. He was such a gentle man, she hated throwing her shit show all over him.

Jill rubbed the soft five o'clock shadow on his face and he looked out the window, watching the rain. "What? Tell me."

"I watched you..go out that window…" His voice was soft and so very quiet. She went still, listening. He was talking about when she was gone. He'd never, ever, spoken of it. He deflected questions regarding it. He'd turned aside curiosity about it. He said only that she was back and what had happened in the in-between didn't matter anymore. But, of course, it did. "I tried to find you…but the water…the storm…they drugged me and put me down…"

The rain peppered the glass now, wet and thick. She watched the shadow of it move over his face. His nose was crooked from where she'd broken it when they'd fought. She touched it now, gently. But he wouldn't look at her. Her free hand stroked over his stomach, petting him.

"I don't know how long I was gone from it. Months I think…I don't know. I tried to find you in everything. Bars, walls, water. I went nuts. Or died. Or something." He shook his head, "Shit. I'm not fucking Kennedy. I don't have the words for this kind of shit. Fuck."

"Look at me."

He shook his head.

"Look at me, Chris."

He did now. He looked at her and her face was puffy and swollen from crying. She cupped his cheek and held it. "Just talk. It doesn't need to be a fucking poem. Just talk to me."

His fingers lifted and skimmed over her cheek, brushing against the tears there. Her guy, all fucking heart, and it was written across his tortured face. "I tried to find you. I tried to find any part of you that I could hold on to. Any part of you I could keep. It was this…river…that was so wide and deep…it just…there was nothing but the undertow…and I couldn't stop going under…"

She took his hand and kissed the palm of it. She knew what it took for him to go here for her. She knew he'd try. She was the only person who'd ever get to see it. And he had so much of this in him. He was so diverse, so deep, so endless. Why did he hide it?

So, he wouldn't be kneeling on the side of the road screaming his pain to the rain?

Probably.

"They put nothing in your grave. Nothing. I went there and there was nothing there. I couldn't feel you there. I couldn't feel you anywhere. And I couldn't find you. I panicked. I tried so hard to feel you. And I couldn't. I didn't know how to breathe, or sleep, or eat. I was just…dead. Empty. No…not even empty. I was just…rotting. From the inside."

It stopped her heart. And stole her breath. And humbled her. Jill cupped his face now, holding on. "Chris…Chris…you never said anything."

"Yeah," He laughed now, bitterly, "That's me, right? I never say anything. I just…let it go. Sometimes? You have to let go, Jill. Even when you just want to hang on. Even when you just want to keep fucking holding on. You let it go."

"Did you? Did you let me go?"

He held her gaze now and she saw him struggle with it. What he wanted to say and what he thought she'd want to hear. She watched him hesitate.

"Stop it. Stop. Just say it. Say it now and stop thinking about what I want to hear. Say it."

"If you don't let him go? It will kill you. One day at a time, it will kill you. So, you fucking let it kill you now. Right now. And you get back up. It's all you can do."

Jill said nothing. She let go of his face. It wasn't an answer. It wasn't a real answer. It was what he thought she wanted to hear. Would he, never, say what he was feeling? The truth? Would it fester inside of him until it destroyed him? She knew what that was like. They were going to fester and die together in the lies that spilled like blood around them.

Chris got out of the truck. He stood in the rain for a moment and breathed. What was the answer here? If he told her the truth, what good could it do? She was broken and raw. He wouldn't hurt her anymore. Ever. It wasn't how he was built. But he could do his damnedest to help her heal.

Jill climbed out of the truck and they moved to the room. He keyed them into the door and they walked in. It was cool and inviting inside. He chucked the keys on the small table beside the door and flipped on the light beside the tiny television.

The motel was done in shades of hunter green and yellow. It was a hunters motel, clearly, and the theme was does and bucks and big antlers. Montana, Jill mused, the land of the hunt. The two beds were made with bedspreads in ugly, dull brown.

She watched him pace a little and sat down on the edge of one bed to pull off her boots. He was in a sweater that was older than he was. It had been his father's and was fraying at the edges. The color was a rich, dark blue. It was pettably soft and smooth. She'd worn it plenty on Sundays spent watching football and eating hotdogs. The jeans were all classic Chris, faded and almost white with age, missing pockets and throwing stitches.

This wasn't a man that built his empire around fashion. This was a man who'd built his empire around simplicity. He was a man who'd waded into battle without the right skills but with the right drive. He backed his battle with dedication and sheer will instead of skill and training. Chris often saw things as black or white and the gray that slid between was generally over looked or ignored. To force him to see his own feelings was treading a line that was uncomfortable and raw for him.

He didn't do well with it. And she was sorry he was hurting for it now. She didn't want to bleed her pain all over him. He deserved better than that.

"I'm sorry." She whispered it, shivering.

"Stop it. Stop saying that. How is this your fault Jill? Any of it?" He was so mad. Why? For her? At her? He was, by turns, her best friend and the biggest mystery of a man she'd ever met. She felt that roll of broken friendship between them that scared her.

"All of it is my fault. All of it. But I can start fixing that. It's all I can do."

"How did you break anything? Tell me. How?" And his face was so frustrated.

She shook her head and rose. She moved toward the bathroom. "I'm sorry. I don't know. It's a fucking kick in the teeth to know you were…never…ugh…I don't know what I'm trying to say here. I need a shower and fifteen minutes to try to forget the fact that I love Leon Kennedy. Just..I need that. Ok? I'm sorry…I love you for holding on out there. You know that."

She closed herself in the bathroom and he thrust his hands through his hair. He listened to the water turn on and he pulled out his phone. He dialed his sister and she picked up, quickly.

"Hey," She sounded good. Which was a relief.

"Hey…how's it going there?"

"Good. Really good. He's doing great with her. I left them alone and he just…he's great. He's singing to her."

The fucking bastard. He was going to be just fine. He doubted, seriously, he was in the shower crying about loving Jill. He could hear her through, in there crying. The fucking bastard.

"Good. Good. How are you doing with it?"

"…fine."

"Claire. Spill it."

He heard her sigh. "I'm fine. I am. These last few months with Steve, it's been good. I'm good here. There's no bitterness here for me. Which is interesting and really good. Leon…I think I was chasing the idea of him all this time. Underneath that? He's my best friend. And it's really good to remember that. I will help him. And he needs the help. I think Leon will be ok….how….how is Jill?"

Chris stepped out of the room now as he heard the shower turn off and closed the door quietly, "She's a fucking mess. I want to drive back there and stuff my fist down his throat."

"Don't. You big squish. Don't." Claire laughed a little now, "It's not his fault. You know that. He's a good man. He never meant to hurt anyone. And he's lost Rebecca for it. So the damage is done here, Chris. Shit just…sometimes it just falls apart."

"Yeah. Sometimes it just falls apart." Wasn't he? He was falling apart right now. He was in it and dying and losing. Because the guilt? The guilt that usually faded with a little practice and patience? It was eating him alive. He'd wanted Kennedy out of the picture. He was out. And Jill was bleeding to death for it. The guilt of that was killing him.

"Give her time, Chris. Give them all time here. I will take care of Leon. You take care of Jill."

"I will."

"I know you will. I love you."

"I love you, C-Bear. Be good." He hung up and sighed.

And he went back into the room. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

She was in the far bed, curled up and away from him. He closed his eyes and breathed. He didn't know how to help her. Was there words for it? If he dug down, could he find them? Kicking the shit out of a grieving Leon Kennedy wasn't going to help anyone. She'd come back from this. He was sure of it. Jill was bullet proof. She was gold. She was…

Crying.

She was crying so softly.

He moved. He didn't have anything else. This was it. It was all he had. All he could give her. He didn't have the words. But he had this. And for the first time, in all the time he'd known her, the hammer of his heart in his chest scared him to death. Because this time? There was a price that came with it.

He kicked off his boots as he went. He pulled back the covers and she rolled over. She swiped at her cheeks with the heels of her hands.

"Sorry. Just…I'm sorry. I'll get it together."

Chris shook his head. She was wearing a little white tank top. She'd skipped the bra. He could see the impression of her nipples against the thin cloth. Fuck. He knew how this went down. He knew how it normally went down with her. He hadn't…touched her in years. Years. A lifetime.

But it was all he had.

There must have been something on his face because she said, "Chris?"

She needed a fucking hug and he was all out of hugs.

She watched him, wide eyed, and two little tears slipped fat and glittering onto her pale cheeks. He said, softly, and gruffly, "I'd cut him the fuck out of you if I could, Jill. I swear to god I would." His voice was so low it was hard to hear him.

She whispered, so soft, "I know that."

They looked at each other in the shadow filled rainy light from the window. He watched her breathe, watched her breasts shift beneath that little top. And she made a small sob and covered her mouth.

"I'm sorry. I'm being stupid."

And he was done watching her cry over Leon Kennedy. Done. It was finished.

It would cost him something to do it now. Something he had no name for. She had Leon Kennedy all over her. She was covered in him. It was in her bones, in her face, in her blood. And it would burn him and bleed him to touch her.

He wouldn't risk it, ever, for anyone but her. It was all he knew how to do. It was all he knew how to be. The fucking hero, he thought bitterly, tossing aside his own safety for her. The hero…the fool. He was both.

He could taste his heartbeat in his mouth. It tasted like fear and something worse. It tasted like regret. And he fucking hated the regret.

His hand fisted in her little tank top. His other hand caught her face. And there it was, the surprise, the teary eyed shock. He watched it fire through her and felt the shiver of it in his soul. He held her face in one hand and slid his gripping hand down her belly.

And he watched the promise of it echo across her searing sadness. Now's when you stop me, he thought sort of wildly, stop me. But she didn't. He slipped his hand into panties and cupped her. They both made some kind of sound of…what? It was excitement, oh yeah it was, but it wasn't just that. What was it?

What was it?

Her hands came up and caught his face. He wanted to get Leon Kennedy out of her, off her, and he didn't want him there anymore. He was fucking done with her loving Leon Kennedy. But this? It came with the ultimate cost. Because he couldn't just touch her now and not love her. He didn't know how to do anything but love her.

The price on his soul? That was his to pay. He'd been paying it for her it felt like all his life. Always a step behind, a moment too slow, a second off – he'd watched that fool ride in like a white knight and ride off with his girl. And the worst part? He didn't even keep her. He dumped her on the side of the road and left her there to bleed to death.

Fucking Leon Kennedy. A unicorn? He'd gored her with his horn and left her dying. He was an idiot. A fool. A blithering fucking dumbass with more fashion sense then brains. He was the greatest mistake she'd ever made. And he was done here.

He lowered his head and kissed her. Just once, just one hard press of closed lips. It nearly killed him to do even that. He was afraid Leon Kennedy would leech his way onto him and infect him with whatever darkness made him irresistible to women. He wanted no part of that bastard here between them. Ever again. She made a sound and closed her eyes. He shook his head and said, "Look at me."

She did. She opened her eyes. Hers were teary and pale in the dark room. God, he thought, this was the price you paid for loving her. Pay it. And be done with it. He said, again, soft and gruff, "I'd rip him out of you if I could." And he drove his fingers into her. He wished he could do the same to her heart.

She was wet and tight and perfect and he made some sound of hunger the moment his fingers were inside of her. It was simultaneously the best feeling he'd ever had and the worst feeling he'd ever felt. Because touching her was going to kill him.

Jill cried out, bucking against his hand. He pinned her against the bed while he speared his hand into her body like a pointed assault. He pulled a Chris Redfield on her and ripped her back from the edge of her own misery. It had been so long she'd forgotten he was good at this. This? It was his thing.

But his face. It wasn't the same. There wasn't the gentle thrill of him here. He wasn't trying to ease her back from the edge. He was ripping her off it while she was still screaming. She turned slick and hot and wet around his thrusting digits, feeling her body heat and fire and fill for him. She tried to kiss him and he let her fall back against the bed. He held her down now, one hand across her collarbone as he worked her body. He did it without mercy, without anything but greed.

Jill grabbed his arm and held it. She slipped her hand down and covered his where it thrust into her, spilling her hand over his at the apex of her body so she could feel him there. She slid their fingers through each other, twining them as they touched her. It was impossibly hot, impossibly dirty, impossibly wonderful. Jesus Christ, he thought desperately, he'd forgotten the feel of her, the look of her, the flavor of her. And it killed him and ripped him out of the ashes of his own demise to rise again to love her.

He could do nothing else but that. Always.

They worked her body together now, touching and spearing into the slickness of her. She was tight and small and hungry for it. And he knew he'd never, ever get enough of her. She was almost there, almost at the edge of her orgasm, and he pulled his hand free of her body while she gasped in desperate need.

He ripped the cover off her and threw it to the floor. He had to see all of her now, all of her. Yep, he thought, little white fucking panties. Damnit. She made some sound of surprise. He palmed her over those flimsy panties, watching the size of his hand against the smallness of her there. Jesus. When he spread his fingers open, he could nearly reach from one end to the other on her hip bones. She made a little sound and grabbed his wrist, rolling his palm against her.

Yeah, he thought madly, he'd forgotten that too. She was hot for it. And she liked it dirty. It speared into his guts and stole his fucking soul. He slid one hand up under that tiny undershirt and palmed a breast, shaping it in his hand as he ground the heel of his hand against the damp mound. He shifted her little panties to the side and hooked his thumb into her creamy heat, making her bow and scramble her hands against his arm. His fingers shifted and flicked, rubbing over her clit as his hand shifted to her other breast and plucked it, tugging.

Her face was flushed now and her thighs quivering. She was so close. He dropped his mouth to suck one of her little nipples into his mouth through the shirt and she grabbed the side of his face while her other hand worked her body with his. He'd forgotten, forgotten, that she was the best he'd ever had. And that there was no woman on earth that understood the needs of her body like Jill Valentine. He shoved that little shirt up and put his mouth on her bare breast, exciting them both with it. The taste of her thrilled him, killed him, and made him mad for her.

He might have stopped, maybe, but she gasped out his name. It was wet and hoarse and needy. And he wasn't going to stop now. It was done.

His hands caught her legs and jerked her around toward him. She made a little gasp that had his blood shifting and boiling. Tell me to stop, he thought almost desperately, and I'll stop. But he couldn't. Because this? This was all he had. It was all he'd ever had for her. He hadn't touched her. Not really. Not like this. Not in fifteen fucking years.

And he couldn't not touch her now. If it cost him her, if it cost him their friendship, if it meant he couldn't ever touch her again…he'd give her this. This was all he had to get that son of a bitch off her and out of her. It hadn't even been enough before, maybe it wouldn't be now, but it was all he had.

He reached over his head and grabbed his sweater and pulled it off, throwing it away. She didn't tell him to stop. She trembled with want for him. Her hands touched at him, tugged at him, taking his last few breaths of resistance with it.

His body, she thought a little wildly, his body had changed so much. He was still so big, still so strong and wonderful. But the heavy muscle of years before had tapered into a finely honed, toned, and perfect complement to the age on his face. Not a single pinch of fat, not a single hidden muscle. They were all perfectly outlined, all clearly and wonderfully displayed beneath the soft and delicate scatter of hair along the top of his pecs, across the tattoo he'd gotten for his parents, and down his abdomen. His shoulder was all fine, ropey white scars. The ones he'd gotten saving her life on the Queen Dido. His other was the tattoo that crept and curled over his skin with her name scrawled in the beauty of it. And she was there too. She was all over his body. And she wanted him all over hers.

When had his body shifted from sheer muscle to something lithe and beautiful? Again, she felt the twist and pull of the pain of knowing they were further apart then they'd ever been. They were trying so hard to find their way back to each other but the time and life had taken its bite from them. They were on opposite shores of their friendship trying to swim again to the center and meet in their combined ocean of regret.

I'd cut him out of you, he'd said. The pain was ripe and raw here. Hers. His. And theirs. I'd cut him out, he'd said. And she wished it was that easy. The pain was thick and drowning here in this room. The pain of what they'd lost. Of what they'd seen. Of what they'd denied. The pain of what they'd done was there between them as well. Wesker's control and their fighting. The horror of stabbing each other and still having those wounds on their bodies.

She saw them now on him as he looked at her. She felt the ones on her that he'd given her. They'd bled and hurt and hit each other. Would it ever wash away? The last few years of distance and the pain that came from Wesker, from Cathy, from Leon and what they'd done to each other in the face of all that pressure, all that lay between like salt in an open wound…would it ever wash away?

His fingers slid against the pink scar on her side, hers answered it by touching the one she'd given him on his chest. She saw his face in the dim light of the room and died a little. His face said he was hurting. Hurting. And it killed her to hurt him. She didn't want him to touch her and hurt.

She said, softly, "Stay with me, Chris. Stay with me now."

Jill watched him, breathing. He was always the type to wait...to wait for her to make the move. She watched him now and wondered if he was waiting now as well.

But he wasn't. Not anymore.

She rose to her knees on the bed and put her mouth on him. He watched her, trembling in the moonlight. She rolled her mouth over the steely spill of muscle on his chest and flicked her tongue against the scars that peppered his body like a perfectly painted canvas. He was. He'd always been. Perfect. Each mark, each wound, each moment of twenty years rolled between them and was displayed like a story across his skin.

Jill trailed her fingers over his sides and traced against the tattoo on his neck and shoulder. He watched her still, so very still. What was that look on his face? It wasn't him. But who was he? This man who'd loved her for so long. This man she'd lost somewhere along the way. Who was he?

Was he even her guy anymore? And would he ever be again?

Her hands moved up his back and stilled, stilled, as they found the scars. So many scars. So much pain of it. She rolled around his body to see his back and wanted to cry. He was covered in scars. When? Why? Her fingers traced each one and the mess and roll of them along his beautiful back. Whip scars? When?

But she knew when. She knew. When he'd been with Wesker. This…this was how they'd punished him for disobeying them. She knew it. Like she knew his horror that rolled in his guts at what he'd done. Her guy. Her wonderful, beautiful, gentle guy. They'd tried to turn him into a monster.

Just like her.

But they didn't understand him at all. He wouldn't have died there. He'd have risen. He'd have risen to destroy them. She'd left him there and they'd tortured him and tried to kill him. The guilt swirled inside of her like poison.

She touched each one now, delicate and trembling. And she was crying, she was. But she wasn't crying for Leon Kennedy. He wasn't in that room with them. He wasn't there. But the pain was. She pressed her mouth to each mark, each raised lash. Some of it was mounded and thick, some fine and ropey. His beautiful back was lost beneath them mess of it.

Her hands curled around his chest and she held him now, with her front against his back. She could hear his heart beating loud and hard where her ear lay against his scars. He didn't want the pity. The pity of it angered him. He didn't want her to pity him. Not now.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her around in front of him and shook his head. She took his hand and pressed it to her chest. And he didn't want that pity either. No.

She cupped his face and kissed his mouth, softly.

He shook his head and grabbed her panties. She couldn't have stopped him even if she wanted to. And she didn't. She didn't want to. She wanted to forget, for just a moment, to do anything but feel him against her again. And pretend they were still the only people in the world that mattered. She didn't know where it ended, the journey down this road again, she didn't know. But now? Now it ended someplace where there was no room for tears.

Chris pulled her panties down her legs and she let him, watching his face. His face. His face was full of so many things. Say it, she thought, whatever it is…just say it. But words weren't his thing. Never had been.

He pushed her back on the bed and she bounced a little. He dragged her to the edge of the bed and knelt, opening her thighs to look at her. Oh, she thought desperately, oh. And he put his mouth on her. And that was his thing too. She gasped, bowing. He was almost painfully slow about it. He licked her, wet and long, torturing her with it. That had changed too, she thought desperately, he didn't feast on her, he savored her. It was slow and smooth and maddening.

He ground the tousled crown of his hair against her belly and opened her body to him. It was rich and wet and wonderful. His tongue was thrilling, sculpting and sliding and swirling. Jill shivered, her thighs quivering, as he made a sound of want and stole her breath. Like she was the only thing in the world that he would die tasting. Like she was the only thing in the world he wanted in his mouth. Her hands came down to grip in his hair as he delved into her body, killing them both with it.

It was them, yes, but it wasn't. It was new. It was different. And it had been so long that she'd forgotten that feeling in her belly for him. It was ripe and raw, red at the edges, and filled her flesh with a song of something greedy and hot. She bowed, quaking, and he slipped a finger into her body. That was it, she was done. She humped against his face, just once, and came against his tongue with a little cry. Her thighs clenched around his face, quivering, and she felt his tongue in her, in her, while he felt her go around him.

She whispered, "Oh god…"

And it was right. It was right. It was what she'd needed. No hugs. No softness. This. This red, raw, raping need that came out of her body in a gasping moan. This was what she needed. He'd always known what she needed.

He slid up her body and tugged the little shirt off. He licked a smooth, wet line up her belly as he went. She let him, watching his face now with a kind of soft wonder in the shifting light from the rain. She laid flat on the bed and he cupped her breasts, feathering them in soft, wet kisses. His tongue swirled, lips plucking and playing at them.

His hands took hers and laid them over her head. She tried to catch his eyes with hers but couldn't. It felt…she felt something over that. Something that edged into the haze of want and hurt her. His eyes were closed as he nipped, gently, sweetly down the side of her neck. He'd always been such a brutal, such a whirlwind of a lover. This softness thrilled her and scared her and enthralled her.

He was licking over the hollow of her throat and his hands. His hands…his hands were sculpting her breasts, artfully, masterfully. It brought her breath in shallow pants and desperate sighs. And he kissed her, kissed each scar from the device Wesker had put on her on her chest. He rolled his tongue over them and stole something from her to see it. Those hands moved over her ribcage, over her hips, down the insides of her thighs. He cupped her mound, rubbing his hand over the wetness of her.

She made a sound that pleased him and he dipped two fingers into her eager heat. Gasping, she tried to grab his face but he held her arms down over her head. He rolled his thumb to lazily crest over the apex of her body, pushing her into a ragged storm of razors made to cut out her soul. She cried out, feeling the smoothness go jagged at the edges.

He was licking her nipples now and he drew one into his mouth to suckle it, almost lazily. His delving hand increased its pace, maddening her and thrilling them both with her dewy excitement. She tried to pull her hands free and he held her down, pushing her up that jagged edge as he shifted that smoothly delving hand to an unholy, ungodly, unbelievably fast pace now. His fingers fucked her skillfully, fast and murderous.

Jill arched, bucking against his hand, and he bit down. He bit down on her breast, just hard enough to drag a cry from her mouth. He sucked her into the wet cavern of that mouth and held her there, rolling his tongue over her aching nipple. She bowed, spine curling, and came wetly now, humping hard and deep. Wet, wet, red and wet and wanting, she grabbed his forearm and bared down against the assault against her body. It was like dying and flying and coming undone.

She couldn't possibly, ever, know what it was costing him to do it. Ever. All those years of staying away from her was an ache in the bottom of his soul that tortured him. Never a man to dwell in regret, he regretted this. Regretted, not the want of her, not the raping need of her, but the pain of what came when it stopped, when they stopped…and he had to see Leon Kennedy all over her again.

To punish them both, he fucked her body deep and hard. She bucked and cried out. He felt her come around his fingers, sliding them into the sucking, swirling, soul stealing heat of her. He felt her spasm, felt her spill, and she gasped his name. She gasped, "Look at me."

He fought the need to do it. And she shivered around him, shaking and dying. She tried again, desperately, "Chris! Look at me!" It was a hoarse command.

And he did it. He did it. Because he was not now nor had he ever been…a coward.

And his mind said: Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.

He let go of her hands and looked into her face. She grabbed him and brought him to her. And she licked his mouth. It felt like the answer to a question he wasn't ready to ask. But he shook his head.

It hurt her to be denied. He saw it all over her. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't. But he didn't want to die inside of her either. And he was desperately afraid he would. He would die there if she opened her fucking mouth and let him in.

She made a little mewling sound and licked his mouth again. Fuck.

He made some sound and pumped his fingers into her again. Jill gasped, bucking, and cried, "Kiss me! Please! Just…oh god…Chris, kiss me…"

Fuck it.

And he did that too. Because he couldn't ever deny her anyway. So, it wasn't going to start now.

And maybe Leon Kennedy had her. Maybe he did. But he didn't have her right now. Not right now. Not here and now. And that was all there ever was anyway.

She rasped it again, "Chris…don't you want to kiss me?"

And he made some sound and said, "Yeah. I want to kiss you."

So, Chris cupped her neck and the back of her head and drove his tongue into her mouth. Jill moaned and answered it, desperately, and wetly. And he'd forgotten the taste of her there too. She tasted like sin and something silky and damning. It brought a sound from him that was entirely too like a groan. It burst goosebumps all over his body for her. They swirled tongues with a kind of maddening push now. And he just gave up. He gave up trying to keep himself apart from it. And he just gave her what he had. He said fuck it and went down swinging.

He popped their mouths apart, gasping. And his voice was thick and hungry. He said, "What do you want?"

She grabbed handfuls of his hair and licked his mouth. "You."

It was a good fucking answer. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And who am I?"

Oh, something swirled hot and deep in her belly. She drove her tongue into his mouth and ripped a grunt from him. She bit his mouth and said, hoarsely, "Chris Redfield."

"Yeah. Chris Redfield. Not fucking Leon Kennedy."

Jill opened her mouth to his tongue and that was wet and deep and fast. She sucked it and stole his fucking soul. She rasped, "There is no Leon Kennedy here."

"No. Just me."

"Let me touch you."

"Done."

Jill made a gasping cry and he drug her up to her knees as he mirrored it and climbed onto the bed. They met in the center of the mattress in a grappling push of greed. Her hands jerked at his pants, ripping at the zipper. There was nothing underneath. Of course not. He'd never been a guy who bothered with it. There was just him. All of him.

And she'd forgotten the taste of him. She'd forgotten the feel of him. This wasn't old feelings though…it was new and heady and raw. She closed her fist around him and jerked.

Chris grunted, shuddering from it. His hands forced her face up to him to take the drilling length of his desperate tongue. She answered it, swallowing the raping rush of all that feeling and greed. His arms looped around her and jerked her against his body as she played with the length of him mercilessly and he tried to eat her from the mouth down. He gripped the perfect curve of her ass in his hands and rubbed her against him. They were both making sounds that were, possibly, not even really human.

When they couldn't breathe anymore without letting go and her face was raw from his beard and his mouth was sore from trying to kiss her until he died from it, they came up for air. She kept pulling on his dick and trying to steal his soul. He ground out, "Jill…jesus Christ…"

And she laughed. She laughed, dark and dirty. And it was the best sound he'd ever heard. He'd cut himself from groin to sternum and bleed out all over the bed to keep her laughing like that.

She let go to grab his jeans and shove. His arm looped around her and threw her back on the bed. He kicked off his pants and came down atop her. She pushed him over and slapped his hands over his head.

Her teeth drove into the meat of his chest and dragged a hiss of need from him. She laughed again, watching the heaviness of his thighs as she lowered down his body. She licked over his stomach. He shifted his hands to touch her and she smacked them away. With an almost desperate laugh, he gripped the pillow above his head instead. She sucked hard on the inside of his left thigh left a mark there. Jesus, he thought as she dropped her mouth down on him and buried him in her mouth, she was something. She scooped her hands under the muscled curve of his ass. He rubbed against her and thrilled them both as she drove her mouth down and tried to eat him alive. She took him into her sucking mouth like a filthy, feverish thing.

She'd forgotten the flavor of him and it rolled now like a hit of the best kind of drug through her body. She was high on him and hungry for him and looking to score another hit like a junkie. And he had to have her. Now. It was enough and not enough and time for it.

He jerked her up and threw her, literally threw her, onto the bed beneath him. Jill's hands were practically talons where they grabbed to bring him down against her. He laughed, crazy for the look on her face.

He still might have been able to stop. If she'd asked him to. Maybe. But she rasped, "Chris, I've missed you."

And it was done. There was no stopping now.

It was old feelings and new and different. And he couldn't get enough of her.

And this, she thought, this was different too. He was such a dense man, so utterly male, and the coarse feeling of all that body hair against her softness thrilled her and killed her in a single move. She felt the roughness of it against the inside of her thighs as she opened her legs for him. She felt it against her chest as they merged torsos and both made sounds of delight over it. She skimmed her fingers against the hard curve of his biceps, flexed and full without even trying. She licked one, nipping with her teeth.

He rubbed his chest against her breasts and it was new there too. His hands shifted, filled with her breasts and pushed them together to feel her against him as he rubbed on her. Her hands slid down and cupped his ass, raking her nails over the hard and somehow soft muscle of him. They rubbed together, torturously, and she could feel the springy, delicious hair of his groin against the smoothness of her mound. It tantalized her, bringing her mouth in a pant of want.

Her feet slid down his calves and her hands slid up his back. She felt the scars on his body as they went. The warrior, she thought with glee, the warrior of him thrilled her. Those hands caught his face and drew him back.

They held eyes now and his hands shifted to cup around her sides. They nearly met in the middle of her as he bracketed her belly. Big hands, small waist, and it made her insane for him. She held his face, watching him. They kissed now, smooth and questing.

So long, she thought, it had been so long. And too long. His hands slid down and skimmed over her ass, lifting it to rub himself against her. She opened her legs wider, waiting. This was new as well, the waiting.

His hand slid between them and he rubbed the length of himself over the wetness of her waiting need. She gasped and held onto his face. He wanted to hear her say his name and it surprised him. He wanted her to whisper his name with…what? With something. With what?

But he knew the answer to that question.

And that part of her wasn't his to want anymore.

So, he gave her the part that was. He pushed into her body and held her eyes while he did it. She gasped, dying, and arched into him until he was seated there, completely, inside the throbbing core of her need. He gave her his tongue and she sucked it, desperate.

Chris held there, inside of her, watching her shiver and her eyes blur. And maybe he didn't have the words, maybe he never would, but he had them now. "Fuck." It was the only word he had. The only thing he wanted. And it's what he did to her now. And what he was.

He was fucked.

And Jill whispered, hoarsely, "Yeah. Yeah. Do it. God just do it."

"Yeah? Yeah. Christ." And he was fucked in more than one way.

He fucked her, thick and deep and unholy. He grabbed her hands and slapped them over her head and hammered down into her body like he'd split her in half. She gasped, bowing, and slapping against him as they sprang with sweat and filthy needs. Her legs opened so wide she thought she'd break a hip and didn't care. He drove her into the mattress like he was dying for her. She started making some sound, some kind of keen that spurred him on. It was like a siren or a mating call or something. It was high pitched and exciting.

He pushed her across the mattress and grabbed the headboard to leverage himself against her. He cupped her against his body on his knees, forcing her on him, sharp and heavy and raw. She echoed it, throwing her arms out to the sides as her body curled against his hips and he pistoned into the wetness of her. That animal sound she was making was like fire in his blood.

And now she did it, he thought madly, she cried out his name. And he was done. He was finished. His hand dropped and jerked her up by the back of her neck to his mouth. She came bonelessly, like a broken doll. Her tongue speared into his mouth. That sound, he thought desperately, that keening. It made him insane for her. His other arm curled around her back and hips and slapped her hard, once, deep and hard against his body. He surged into her and she screamed into his mouth as she clenched around him, sucking him in, and he shoved himself inside of her wet, hot, and without the ability to stop.

Her hand grappled, grabbing his face to hold on. They crushed foreheads together, sweating on each other and shivering, shaking. She was smashed between the headboard and draped open around his body, her ass resting on his thighs where he knelt, pinning her there. She was spitted on him and crushed against him and she was…dead? She was something. He cupped his hand over her breast to feel her racing heart.

They panted into the long silence. And she rolled her face now and kissed him. It was slow, wet, and sexy. He made some sound of longing that hurt her and he shifted, rolling her up against his body until she straddled him and he could cup her face and pulled her into his mouth. She went, boneless and crazy for him.

He let go of her mouth with a wet gasp from her. He was still buried in her, still hard, and pulsing there. She rolled her body enough to feel him in her. He made some sound that excited her. Lord. It was a fucking amazing to feel it. Christ, she thought, that was one way to let go of the grief for a moment. She slid her sweaty forehead against his neck and shoulder. He nuzzled her face back to him and slid his tongue into her mouth.

And that was new too. That wasn't like him. This wasn't like him. He didn't…snuggle or cuddle…or whatever this was. He wasn't that guy.

But he wasn't really the guy he'd been fifteen years ago. Was he? How could he be? Hadn't they both changed? Of course, they had.

They kiss was so very deep. It was a helluva kiss. She felt her brains turn to mush with it. It was tongue and tongue and tongue. It was highly possible he was trying to take her soul out of her mouth. Highly possible.

Jill lifted her hips, just a little, and slapped back against his sweaty body, torturing them both. She did it again because he made a sound that excited her. She did it a third time because the first two times felt so fucking good. His hands caught the slick curve of her pert little bottom and lifted her and brought her down again on his sticky shaft.

Shit, she thought, they would kill each other at this rate. She opened her thighs and pushed him back on the bed to settled on top of him. She shifted and he was hilt deep and buried in her, still shivering, still sticky, still hard. She grabbed his face, "You didn't go."

"No."

"Why?"

"It wasn't about me."

"…you idiot." Jill grabbed his hands and slapped them over his head. He shifted his legs and let her go. She didn't just go, she destroyed. She raped his body, wet and furious. He shifted his hands and she shook her head, holding him down.

He made some desperate sound and she knew he was close. Her head came down and she shoved her tongue in his mouth. She held his face with one hand, held his arms down with the other, and rode him like she'd kill him with it. Chris surged against her now, grunting and dying or flying or who the hell knew. He knew she had to get off him though or he was going to come in her. He gasped, "Wait…Jill…jesus wait…"

And she killed him, she grabbed a handful of his hair and said, "Go. I think we've waited long enough. Go."

"Fucking Christ," Dirty girl, he thought desperately, dirty little thing. "You want me to fill you up?"

"Oh, yeah. I want to watch your face when you come in me."

Holy hell. She was the hottest woman that ever lived. He laughed, groaning as she rode his body like a rodeo bull.

He looped their fingers together now and she laughed, that wonderful laugh that ached in his balls. She slapped down on his body and his mouth came up to fill with those bouncing tits he loved. He pulled one into his mouth and she slapped her sticky wet heat down on him and it was enough. And too much. And he was done. He grunted, spilling wet and deep in her body as she ground herself on top of him. And she held his damn face to watch his face the whole time.

Jesus.

Finally, finally, they slid away from each other. She collapsed onto her back on the bed, breathing harsh and low. Her hand slid down to cup at the tender throb of her body and she shivered. Shit. That was certainly the best way anyone, ever, had helped her deal with her sadness.

She blew out a sharp breath and rolled her head to look at him. She said, softly, "Jesus wept, Redfield. I think you fucked me stupid. Jill no feel smart no more…Jill dumb from deep dicking."

He let out a little laugh and had her grinning on the bed. "Score for me. Nice Neanderthal man impersonation by the way."

"Thanks. I'm thinking about taking it on the road."

He was digging in his pants by the nightstand. She watched move and it was amazing. She'd been looking at him for over twenty years and she felt like she'd never really seen him at all. He slid on his jeans and left the button open but he moved toward the door and stepped outside without his shirt on. She knew what he was doing. THAT hadn't changed at all.

She threw on his sweatshirt that covered down to her butt…mostly…and went out to join him while he smoked. He had one arm curled around the edge of the over hang, the other was holding the cigarette to his lips. It was a good pose, it showed the muscle in his arms to great advantage.

In the flickering light from the motel sign and the moonlight here, filtered through the rain, she could study his body more. It was lithe, yes, and utterly beautiful. Why was that word in her head for him tonight? Beautiful. He was seldom a man with which one could use the world beautiful. But he'd toned down on the weights and focused on the agility and the shift in training showed in sleek nearly jungle cat muscles now. The arms were still heavy with it, true, but it was refined. His stomach was flat, tight, and cut promising dirty little pleasures to the person that put their mouth and hands on it. She lifted a hand and traced the salt and pepper hair on his chest and watched her fingers slide against one of his nipples. It peaked, delighting her. The tattoo of hers, of his parents, and the scars…they were all beautiful pieces on the canvas of his life. He was so big, so loving, so full of still waters that ran deep and true.

She pleased them both by touching him now. He kept that arm braced above him, kept the other on that cigarette and he didn't touch her. He let her play at his body which was still damp from sex and slick with it. She traced the curve of his hip and swirled her finger over his naval, tracing each perfectly outlined abdominal muscle. His sides were corrugated with it and made for fingers and exploration. This remained the same, she thought, she was always touching him, painting him with her hands.

He was watching her face and blowing out inky smoke. What was that on his face? It was something. She put out her hand and he passed her the cigarette. She inhaled now, studying him. And her hand curled up the back of that beautifully displayed bicep. It looped over his wrist and held there. And it brought the corner of his mouth up in a little smile.

There was the magic of him as well. In her bare feet, he made her feel small and feminine. He was tall enough to make her feel little. And she liked it. Always had.

She said, softly, "Tell me what's inside that head of yours."

"What else? You." He put his other arm up, bracketing them on the overhang now. She poked the cigarette in his mouth and pulled it away. And he made her laugh…and sort of shiver with a quick pull up.

Boom, she thought, that's how you get girls to forget stuff. Just flex your muscles and make their brains fall out their ass. Clever man.

She said, "I'm on to you, Redfield. Quit flexing and start talking."

Chris laughed and dropped back to his feet. He struck up another cigarette, letting her keep the first. He inhaled, long, slow and with his eyes closed to enjoy it. Jill touched his tummy, watching those perfect muscles clench and relax. Beautiful. And there was that word again.

He liked the touching. He liked the look on her face while she did it. It was raw and sort of wonderful. Like she'd never touched him before. As if she hadn't known him for two decades. He liked it.

In this moment? There was no Leon Kennedy on her face. He was on her face. And he liked it.

Chris watched her face and said, "Tell me what you want here." And because he hadn't done it in so long and because he could, now, right now in this moment. He slipped his hand up the back of her thigh under that sweater to stroke the smooth, delicious curve of her pert little bottom. And it excited him.

He liked touching her when he wanted. He'd spent so long trying to be what she wanted. Maybe that had always been his mistake. He just needed to be the guy who took what he wanted.

Jill shivered and shook her head now, laughing a little. "I'm always doing that. You tell me what you want. What do you want? And don't feed me bullshit, Chris. I've gotten enough of that for a life time. What do you want?"

He stared off into the rainy dark for a long moment and brushed his fingers down the cleft of that perfect bottom and against the moist, sticky heat of her to feel himself there. Jesus. It settled in his dick and screwed with his concentration. He had to stop touching her or he'd never say what he was thinking.

But he pressed his fingers into her anyway and felt her gasp and grab at his face. Jesus. And he liked the look on her face. What do you want? She'd asked. This is what he wanted. Her. Any time he wanted her. All the time. He wanted to throw her down and fuck her stupid and love her. That's what he wanted. He filled her full of his fingers and dragged her into him to do it. She made a sound, desperate and high. She held his face and jerked as he fingered the sticky heat of her and watched her face. What did he want? He wanted her to come there, right there, against his hand. After that? He wanted her to come on his face and probably around him for the rest of their lives. But he wasn't often a man who said things like that out loud.

He'd never just been able to touch her any time he wanted. He'd never just been able to put his fingers in her and watch her go up. She'd never been his. What did he want? He wanted her to be his. It was that simple. And it was that complicated.

Jill gasped and grabbed at his hand like she'd pull it out of her. "Oh stop..stop…I'm gonna…I'm…"

Oh she was. It was all over her face. Chris pressed her against the wall by the door. She was going to come, right there, in the wide open while the world watched. He usually would have stopped. But she'd asked him what he wanted. He blocked her body from the view of the road with his, kept his other arm banded around her and kept right on filling her up with his fingers. She pushed at his arm, kinda desperately, and he laughed and put his tongue in her mouth.

She shoved at him a little, "Don't…Chris…I'm gonna…"

"Yeah," He rasped it, "I see that. Go. Do it. What do I want? I want you to come in my hand. Come on Valentine, show me what you've got."

"Oh my god," She gasped and he sucked her tongue into his mouth.

That was it. That was all it took. She made a sound and bucked wetly against his invading hand. The hot little thing that she was. Thank god that Leon Kennedy was such a fucking idiot, Chris thought kinda madly, thank god.

He was going to throw her against the wall and fuck her standing if he didn't stop it though. And the idea thrilled him. He could lift her and set down on his dick right here in the middle of the wide open and watching world. It was a kind of possession that thrilled him.

He kissed, wet and slow.

Jesus. He had to stop.

He dropped his hand from her and stepped away. And he watched it shoot across her face as well. Which thrilled him more. She gasped, shaking where she stood.

He had to remember what the fuck they were doing here. So, he gave her the fucking truth she was always asking for, "I want to cut him out of you. Tell me how. Tell me what it will take and I'll do it. If I go there and kick his fucking ass in the dirt like I should have done a thousand times over the years, will it work?"

Jill smiled a little, sadly, while she shivered, "I wish."

"Tell me why," And he sounded frustrated now, "Why bother to love him? Objectively, he's a good man. He's dedicated, he's clearly handsome…if you like skinny and girly."

Jill laughed a little now.

"But he's done nothing but hurt you. He's done nothing but expect you to change for him. He's done nothing but try to make you something you're not. Why hold on to that, Jill? When is enough enough?"

It was a fucking good question. She wondered if he knew how good of one. Hadn't he ever, ever, asked himself that? She studied his face and said, softly, "You tell me."

"What?"

"When is enough enough, Chris? How long?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar. Yeah you do. It was Wesker, first, that brought my eyes open. And I hated him for that. But it wasn't entirely that…it was coming back from the dead to find you waiting. It was knowing you'd broken and fell apart without me. How long? How long have you been waiting for me?"

"It's not the same thing. Not even close."

"Oh yeah? How? If you can ask it of me, can I ask it of you? When is enough enough? Why is ok for me to let go and not you? How long have you been waiting for me to see you?"

"You don't get to ask me that."

"Why not? You can ask me about love and make it seem like I'm wrong for holding on. But you won't answer me now? How long? You hypocrite. How long have you been waiting?"

"Damnit, Jill. Let this go. I mean it." Oh he was frustrated. And she kinda loved it.

"Redfield, you just put your fingers inside of me and made me your bitch. We're passed letting it go. Answer me."

Chris shook his head and started to turn away and she grabbed his arm, hard, and surprised him. "Stop it. God damnit, just stop it. And tell me the fucking truth. How long?"

She could see the panic on him now and it made her sad. He was torn between wanting to tell her the truth and wanting to keep from hurting her. And he remained the only person on earth to ever care about hurting her. On the highway, a tractor trailer truck was honking its horn. The world was awash in flickering light and pouring rain.

And he finally said, "Too long. Ok? Too long. Why does it matter now? It's done."

Jill nodded and tossed her cigarette away. She said, quietly, "Objectively, I can see why you'd love her. She's a good girl. She's kind and brave and hell on wheels with a knife. She's even pretty funny. But she's a fucking mess. She's done nothing but be blind to you all these years. Why love her? When is enough enough?"

God damn she was clever. She was all the things she'd said and more. She was the smartest chic he'd ever met. She knew how to turn the tables on any opponent, him included.

"It's not the same. It isn't. You're not Leon Kennedy."

"No, I'm not." And she held his eyes now, "And I'm not Cathy either. Not even close."

She moved a little toward him and he backed up. He just…he backed up. And it thrilled her. She was standing in the cool, rainy air with Chris Redfield, the legend, the guy who never ran. Who never panicked or freaked out or fled. And he was trying to flee.

He must have realized it at the same time she did. "Where ya goin there, Redfield?"

He had to laugh. What else could he do? "Apparently I'm going to make a break for it."

"I'm faster than you are. It's not in your best interest to run."

"I don't want to run from you, Jill. Just from this conversation."

She smiled a little at him. He echoed it and she pushed him back against the wall. He caught her face and rubbed his thumbs over her skin.

She said, "Tell me about Cathy. Tell me. And we'll see if you get it. We'll see if you understand why I kept loving him. I'm gonna guess you know all about it. About why we hold on when we should let go."

Her hands grabbed his wrists and held on. And she watched him struggle with this too. But he'd try. For her. "She was all kinds of wrong for me. And I loved her. I loved her. I didn't want to love her. But she was a hurricane…or a storm or something. She just knocked you down and blew you apart. She mattered and I didn't want her to matter."

Yeah, she thought, he understood just fine what she had in her for Leon Kennedy. He got it. Her guy. He just didn't fucking like it.

The cool wind trickled over them, spilling and thrilling her. And she finally, finally, gave him the truth in her belly for his. It was a fair trade. "I was jealous of her."

Surprised, he studied her longer now. "Why?"

"Because I saw that. I saw that she mattered. I saw that and was jealous. And I've never been jealous."

Oh, this was dangerous ground here. He felt it get boggy and scary. He thought about running out into the rain and it nearly made him smile. What an image. Running across the parking lot from Jill Valentine because she was talking about feelings. It was almost ridiculous.

"Alright." He kept on looking at her. That was his thing. He was letting her lead the way here. She considered and hesitated.

"You always ask me what I want."

"Yeah." His voice was gruff and so very low. He let her trace his arms with her hands. He kept moving his thumbs over cheeks. And he didn't let go. And that was his thing too.

"What do you want, Chris?"

She could see him trying to find the right answer to give her and hated it. "I want you to get the fuck over that idiot. He's not worth it. Get over him."

"Why?"

Truth. She wanted truth. So, he'd give her that too. "Because he's cut you off at the knees. And you're not sleeping. He's not worth a single tear of yours. Ever. EVER." He stroked her face that was still swollen with tears. "EVER." And he said this quietly now and with emphasis.

She shook her head, "Forget him. He's gone. He's…he's gone from me. What do YOU want?"

Jill could see the distress on his face. This was hard for him. He was so frequently known to do what she wanted. He was so afraid to say it, say it, and tell her what he wanted. She saw their life on his face, their life together…their life apart. She saw the truth of it there in each line, each wrinkle, each gray hair. She'd been the girl and he the boy who'd sat down to make her laugh. She was half of a person without him, half of herself when he was gone. He would tell her everything she wanted to hear and she just wanted the truth.

For once in her life, she wanted a man to tell her the fucking truth.

"Answer me, Redfield. Now."

"I want to be in your life, Jill. Whatever that means." And he looked afraid, which hurt her.

"Stop it, Chris…damnit." Frustrated, she shook her head at him, "Stop it. Tell me. Tell me what's inside of you."

Fireworks of color exploded across his face. The rain offered them a shell to their conversation. They were two people bound and broken and bleeding from it. They were so close and had never been so far apart. He watched her, no longer the predator…but the prey. "Is that really what you want, Jill? Once we start down this road, we can't take back any of it."

Jill sighed, "Yes. Yes I do. We're passed taking it back. My thighs are sticky from you still. We're passed the point of no return. Just tell me."

"And what about him?"

"He's not an issue. He's not…he's not anything. Not anymore. He is... I love him. I do. I can't not love him." She watched it echo across his face and shook her head, denying the pain of it there. She grabbed his face now and held it, hard, "I will get over it. That's where we are the same, Chris. He's not going to break me. I won't let him. There's room in me for you. I don't know what that means. I don't know if we do this and fail what that means either. I know only that I can't keep waiting for him to want me back. I'm not that fucking strong. But I need you tell me what the fuck you want here. So, I know where we go and if we go there together. Stop running away and fucking tell me."

He shook his head and pulled her hands from him. He looked so torn and she hated that too.

"Jill…damnit." Chris turned away from her. He turned away. It hurt her to see him do it. He didn't want her to see whatever was on his face. She grabbed his arm and turned him back.

"Stop it. Stop hiding. Look at me."

He shook his head. She could see the frustration there. She said, "Are you a fucking coward?"

"Excuse me?" Oh, his tone was something. It was offended and angry. There. There, she thought, now he was mad. Mad was good. Mad was real. Mad wasn't jokes and hiding and pretending and waiting. Mad was real.

"Answer me. What do you want, Chris Redfield? Right now. What do you want?"

He didn't answer her. Because he didn't have the words. Words weren't his thing. They'd never been his thing. He grabbed her. He grabbed her by the back of her neck and his other arm banded around her. He lifted her against him and kissed her.

She made some sound and grabbed his face, holding on. He'd kissed her a thousand times before, maybe more. And it had never felt like this. This wasn't friendly, it wasn't comforting, it wasn't even satisfying them both. There was a desperation, a rage, and a need inside of that burned her mouth. It spread like fire through her guts and into her chest.

He kissed like he'd die if he couldn't, like he'd crawl inside of her mouth and burst her from the inside out. She felt the crash of it inside of her like fire and blood and pain. He shoved all of it into her like a spear and stole her breath. He killed her where she stood with it. He pressed her against the wall while the world went off around them, lighting and sparking and popping. She wasn't even aware that they were moving, trading tongues and teeth and hunger. Some of it was so familiar, so very safe, and some of it was so very scary.

What do you want? She'd asked and he'd answered her. Her mind added the edge of truth to it. You know what he wants, it told her. You've always known what he wants. And now you know, it said, now you know what it feels like to be Leon Kennedy. Because you want him, you do, but he's in love with you. He's dying for you.

And what do you want?

She wanted to feel that way about him. She wanted to feel about him the way she felt about Leon Kennedy. She did. Because he would give it back to her.

But could you really help who you loved that way? Ever? She wanted him like something hot and wet in her body. Oh yes she did. And maybe that was where it started for them. Maybe it started somewhere wet and hot.

He was quiet for a long moment, holding her. She raised her face to look at him. And that was it, she thought, that was it. All the flirting, all the joking, he put it aside to look at her like that. Like she was everything. Like she was his weakness. And maybe she'd be his strength.

She said, quietly, "Give me the words, you fucking softie. Say it. Now."

And he did. Her guy. He told her what the fuck he wanted. Just like that. "Him gone. And me with you. That's what I want."

It was…similar to the conversation she'd had with Leon that day in Paris. This was that. It was. But it wasn't. Because the answer here was simple and it hadn't been there. It hadn't ever been simple there. Because she'd had the answer for Leon Kennedy in Paris. The answer had been no. If he'd ever, ever, ever known her, he'd have known there was no Jill Valentine without Chris Redfield. And he would have never asked her to give him up.

And this time the answer wasn't no. This time? The answer was yes.

And she said, quietly, "Good. Because I want that too."

She watched the fear of it flicker across his face. Her guy. The bravest guy she'd ever known. She watched the fear of that echo across him. She knew the risk of it was huge and horrible.

They stared at each other in the glowing light, in the shadows and striking droplets of rain. And she added, "I want that too, Chris. So, prove to me you're not a coward. Prove it."

He rolled his neck a little and turned to scan the horizon. He blew out a slow breath and made her laugh a little with it. And he said, with feeling, "…fuck."

"Yeah. That's about right." She laughed again, softly.

"Alright." He faced her now and her hands came up to slide over his chest. "What do you want from me?"

"I need you to stop doing this. This hiding. This faking. I need that. Just tell me the truth. Always. No bullshit. That's who you are. Stop being afraid you'll hurt me."

"That's asking a lot of me, Jill."

"Is it? Really? It's asking a lot to be real with me?"

"It's asking a lot of me to hurt you." He shook his head now, irritated, as he tried to find the right words. He turned away and bracketed the over hang again, gripping and flexing his arms without even realizing it. She watched him and wanted him. And it scared her too. It did. Because he'd changed the game in that room. He'd tossed aside all that careful friendship they'd been faking for so long. And he'd shown her that she was his Leon Kennedy. And there was no turning back from that now.

His back. His BACK. His back was covered in scars and pain and survival. He was so much. So big. So much. There was NO Jill Valentine without Chris Redfield. Didn't he know that?

Jill moved up behind him. She slid her arms around his waist and put her cheek against his back. She rubbed her face like a cat against all those scars. What did you survive, Chris? What did they do to you? She kissed them, moving her mouth over each one. Moved, he dropped his arms and he closed them over hers. This was the moment when he gave her what she wanted. And told her what was inside of him.

"When you were gone…I was half of a man I think. It almost killed me."

She held on, listening.

"I understand Leon Kennedy. And I like him. And I hate his fucking guts. Because whatever tortured pain is in him? It draws you to him. What's worse? He's not special, Jill. He's not. His pain? What you see when you look at him and hold him and try to fix him? It's in everyone. It's in all of us. But Kennedy? He's a fucking mess who can't deal with it. So, he dumps it all over everyone else. And you women? You just fucking suck it up and love it. His fucking face and that hair and his sad, sad little boy eyes just make you all stupid for him. His perfect fucking face and his flawless fucking body. You god damn women can't see underneath all that pretty packaging? He's nothing special. Just a guy with a lot of pain."

She stroked his chest while he talked, holding on. Still holding on. It was the least she could do for him.

"If I'd have fucking known you wanted pain all these years, I'd have shown you what a mess I am too. Maybe then I'd have been what you wanted." Now or never, he thought, she'd said no bullshit. It was time to tell the truth, "Maybe then I wouldn't be standing here trying to figure out why you're too fucking stupid to love me back." And it killed him to say things like this to her. And to be afraid that it would destroy them both.

Oh. That hurt her. She'd asked for truth though. She'd wanted it. She turned him now to look at her. And he was so mad. It was written all over him. He was so mad at her. At her? At her, oh yeah, and himself, and at Leon Kennedy. And at what? Fate? Timing?

So, she gave the truth back to him, "You want to know why? Really?"

"Why not? Try me."

"Because you were always too good for me."

He laughed and shook his head. He struck up a cigarette and inhaled. "What kinda shit is this now, Valentine?"

"You are. You were. Chris…" She moved into him and he wrapped his arm around her. "Chris…you aren't a mess. You? You're a guy that knows who he is, what he wants, and where he's going. You're good and kind and strong and squishy. And your heart…your heart is so big and wide and wonderful. Why in the hell would you want me? I'm a fucking mess. Kennedy and I? We're both a mess. It's why we found each other. It's why we'd be perfect or we'd kill each other in the end. He needs that baby. She's his purpose. But what's mine? I don't know. I've never known. And you? You deserve someone who understands what you are. Who appreciates what you are."

He looked down at the crown of her head tucked against him. And he loved her. He loved her like he'd die from it or explode or bleed to death in the street. Didn't she get that? Gruffly, he said, "What am I?"

She lifted her head to look at him. "You're everything." She said it so emphatically, so thickly and richly. She wanted him to understand that. "You always have been. You're my light. You're my strength, you big oaf. You fool. Leon…he…asked me to let you go once. He said he needed you gone so he could love me. He asked me to let you go."

And the silence now was long and full of everything. He watched her face, waiting. She stroked him, swirling fingers against his chest. It was an old habit and a good one.

"Makes sense," He said finally, "Proving he's not a complete fucking dumb ass after all."

Jill laughed and shook her head. "He has his moments."

"What'd you say?"

And she looked up again, surprised. She studied him for a long moment and figured out he was serious. He was. He was serious. And apparently fucking stupid for it. "But maybe you're a complete fucking dumbass, Redfield. What do you think I said?"

Oh. That arrowed around in his guts. He held her eyes now. He scanned her face, back and forth. And it hitched in his balls and lodged there. "You said no." And the wonder in his voice surprised them both. It hurt her, more than she could say that he'd thought she'd agreed. It hurt her and told her how far down the ladder they'd fallen. So, he said it again, "You said no to him."

"I said no," She confirmed, watching his face, "I can live without him, Chris. I can't live without you. I never could. Half a man? You said. I'm half a man without you too."

He grabbed her face in his hands now because what she said next? It would matter. It would matter a great deal. She saw that on him now. And he felt it shiver there between them. "Jill…you love him. I see him all over you. Why would you say no?"

She took his hand off her face and put it on his tattoo and she put her hand over his. "Because I'm all over you, you fool. All over you. And he couldn't ever, ever, understand that. I love him. But you? You're mine. Always have been. Always will be. Tell me you want me, Chris. Tell me you want me. And we can work on cutting him out of me."

"You could have had him, Jill. You've been chasing him all these years. You could have had him. Why? I don't understand. I can't wrap my head around it. I don't get it."

"Don't you? Chris Redfield," She put her hand on his chest and put his on hers, "This is where we are, you big bastard. There is no me without you. Ever. Ever ever ever. You came across the world to find me. You chased me around yelling at me in that husk. Him? He SHOT me. You? You kept grabbing me and holding on. You kept holding on, Chris. When he let go? You held on. Tell me…tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you didn't go to my fucking gravestone every day. Tell me I'm wrong."

She watched the pain of it burst across his face. The panic. She knew this is where they found their truth. It was time. For all of them. But he didn't move his hand. He just kept it there on her heart. "Tell me."

And he said, quietly, "Every day. Sometimes twice a day. When I felt…when I needed to feel you. I couldn't feel you anywhere but there. And even there? Even there you weren't waiting for me. But I kept going back. I kept going back to feel you."

The pain of that speared and seared and stole her breath. And saved her soul. The love of it humbled and healed her. Her voice was hoarse when she asked, "Every fucking day for three years?"

"Yeah. Every fucking day for three years." She was shaking now and the tears in her eyes were thick and jewellike in the flickering moonlight. He didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know how to fix it. And it panicked him to see the pain on her face. He didn't like putting it there. But it was a good pain. A good pain. It was the pain of knowing you're wanted and loved and coveted.

"How can you ask me why? How?" She watched his eyes, trying to see into his soul or something. "I…stuck that knife in your back and watched your eyes. Empty. But I knew I could get you back. I could get you back. Because you'd done that for me? You called me back, you kept holding on when I was gone. You kept pushing when I couldn't push anymore. And Wesker? He called me your weakness. Am I your weakness, Chris? Am I?"

He dragged her into him now and looped his arms around her. And he answered, whisper soft, "You've always been my weakness. Always. And the only god damn thing I ever let matter."

She curled around him, holding on. "You slow, slow bastard. You wonderful, stupid, slow man. You are mine. Don't you understand that? I could never, ever, let anyone take you away from me. I will always, always, bring you back to me. Always."

He picked her up now, holding on to her. She pulled his face back to look at him. "Are you in love with me?"

And he didn't hesitate, the guy who'd, literally, walked through fire for her. He didn't hesitate at all now. "I've been in love with you since the moment I met you. Always."

And she echoed it, afraid and soft, "Always."

"Oh yeah."

"You never said anything. Why?"

"The idea of having you beside me was better than the thought of never having you with me at all. So I shut the fuck up and kept it to myself."

"….twenty years, Chris. Twenty years of it."

"Yeah. Turns out I'm a fucking coward too." And he laughed bitterly.

"No. You're the bravest man I've ever known."

He held her eyes now, fascinated. "What?"

"Who does that? Who loves someone silently and completely and perfectly for that long? Your loyalty…it's legion. It's why you're a legend. You're not a coward…you're a hero. And I love you."

He started to shake his head and she grabbed his face and held him, hard. "Stop it. I love you, Chris. I always have. Always. When it was clear that this wasn't going to be anything for us, I buried the in love part of that. I kept it buried and kept it there. But I love you. Where it goes? What it means? I don't know. But I know it starts here for us. It starts here. If you want it to."

"Can it? When he's buried in there?"

"That's the thing about love Chris. It doesn't need to do anything but exist to conquer. I loved my father too. I still do. And he was never right for me either. But loving Leon Kennedy, that came with a price I wasn't willing to pay. I wouldn't trade you for anyone, ever, ever ever ever. So here I am. I'm right here. And I'm saying now? Now is when you take your shot. Take your shot, Redfield. And get the girl."

"Right now? In the parking lot?"

"Why not?"

"There's a hobo over there by the trashcan digging for food. You think he wants some dinner theater?"

And she laughed now, crazy for him. "Why the hell not?"

"You dirty, dirty girl. Don't tempt me."

She took his hand and slid it up her body. She put his hand on her warm mound and stole his fucking soul.

"There's where you are. Still. Want to be there again?"

Dirty. Dirty. Beautiful girl. He felt her in his god damn bones.

He rasped, "Are you trying to kill me?"

"I'm trying to make you mine. Make me yours, Chris Redfield. I want to be yours."

"…damnit."

He shoved her back against the door of the room. She gasped and tried to laugh but there was no laughter. He jerked at his zipper, picked her up around the back of her thighs and lifted her. Wait, she thought desperately, we're still outside. And it didn't matter. He shoved her against the door, hitched her legs around his waist and filled her full of his thrusting body. It didn't matter anymore that they were in plain view of anyone trying to get a show.

Jill cried out, grabbing around his neck and shoulders to hold on as she shoved into her fast and hard and desperately. Her hand grabbed for the door knob and twisted, spilling them back into the room as the door swung inward. He kept on fucking her while he moved, kicking aside his pants that tumbled to the floor. He kicked the door closed and set her on the dresser while he pumped into her, pushing her knees back to open her body to him. Her hands scrambled up to grab the mirror above her head and hold on.

She screamed, dying for it and he laughed, burning alive for her. Make me yours, she'd said, and he spread her open and did just that. He filled her up with his body, his fingers, his tongue. If she was open, he filled her there with his need. She was crying out and bucking and coming and screaming and it was good, it was good and wet and wild.

He jerked out of her body while she was still bucking, looping his arm around her hips to lift her again. He tossed her on the bed. She bounced, watching him, gasping and bowing.

And he said, quietly now, "Take off the sweater and lay back on the bed."

Oh. Oh. And there it was. The tone of command. It thrilled her from the man who was so often known to let her lead the way here. It thrilled her.

She listened, laying back on the bed while he breath came in shallow pants from it.

He climbed onto the bed, naked, and slid over her body. She gasped and moved to grab him but he shook his head and she let her hands drop back to the mattress. He started at her forehead and didn't stop. His mouth, his teeth, his tongue they traced and tempted and took and destroyed her. He tasted each piece of her, each part, each shiver and sliver of skin and soul.

He rolled his tongue in her belly button and licked along the crease of her thigh and groin. He bit gently down her legs and calves. And she realized…she realized what he was doing. He was…making love to her.

She rose on her elbows to watch him now as he parted her legs to kiss her. Each roam and roll of mouth against her, each movement it was unlike him and wasn't. It was him but wasn't. It was what love looked like when you let it touch you. It was what it looked like to let Chris Redfield worship you.

Worship?

Worship.

She made a sound and grabbed for his face. He came up her body and she opened her legs as he settled between them and against her. She said, quietly, "Is this what you want?"

And, the man with no words, he said, "It's all I've ever wanted."

Shit.

She kissed him, eyes open and watching. And here, she thought, was a man who wouldn't run from her. He wouldn't roll on her in the middle of the night and roll away again in the morning. He wouldn't whisper I love you in the dark and panic. Here was a man that would just…love her. Who'd just loved her all this time. All this time. To stand there, silently, and watch her drift away. He was a fool.

And he was her guy.

She said now, softly, "Show me."

And he did. He slid inside of her and it was good. It was soft now and sweaty and good. They blended, gasping, as the raping greed spilled into a shining need. He stroked her twice and she clenched around him as he came wetly, spurting inside her body while she gasped his name.

In the long moments before dawn, she rolled to find him watching her. She studied him in the eerie spill of dawning sun. They lay face to face, watching each other. His shifted his hand to trace the line of her cheek, to touch her collarbone, and feather the tip of one heavy breast. He slid his hand down her side and over her hip. She slid her hand over to touch his face.

He said, "I love you, Jill. But I can't be Leon Kennedy for you."

And Jill answered, softly, "I would never want you to be anything…ever..but you. Ever. You're mine. Do you want to be mine?"

"I want for us to be each other's."

Oh. The man with no words. He had them…when he needed them. She took his hand and held it. "So that's what we do. We just do it one day at a time."

"Be sure."

"I'm sure. I've never been sure of anything else in my life. Ever. But I'm sure of you."

"….shit." And he laughed a little. "How does it start, Jill?"

"I think it starts with baring our souls to each other. I want you to know me, Chris, like no one else…ever."

"Me too."

To prove it? She opened her mouth and started talking. She told him, finally, about Wesker. About her time there with him. She told him about the killing and the blood and the violence. She told him about the control, about the punishments when she resisted.

"He never, ever, asked any of his minions to torture me. He gave me to his filthy bitch, Miracella. She was a cunt. And good at beating the fuck out of me. But she wasn't his punisher. Oh no. He did that himself."

They were just lying face to face in the early light. He was a good listener, always had been. He didn't judge and didn't condemn. He just listened.

"The first time I resisted? He threw me down on the table and told me he was going to rape me." She was on her back now, staring at the ceiling as she spoke. She didn't see the rage on his face. If she had? It would have scared her to death. "Would you like me to rape you, Jill? That's what men have been doing since the dawn of time, after all…to get women to obey. Shall I rape you?"

She shifted a little, watching the shadows on the ceiling. And she just kept talking. They both knew, now, that where they went from here was going to lead them some place they could never come back from.


	2. Part 2

The Girl who was almost a sandwich: The Long and Winding Tale of Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, and the Boy Who Stood Between

ALTERNATE ENDING: AND ALL THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN….

"Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else."

― Sarah Cross, Kill Me Softly

:::::::::::::::::THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT PART 2::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Gibel, Russia 2007

On the table, Jill remained face down. She knew if she moved, he'd shove her back again. She was naked, exposed. And the room was empty. He usually tortured her with an audience. To find it empty, save for him, scared her to death. She hadn't been out of the stasis chamber for long.

She'd come awake with no idea where she was or how long she'd been gone. She just knew she was no longer Jill Valentine. And now she was here, his fucking puppet. He'd always do it this way. He'd throw her down on this table like some kind of platter of pathetic rage and shove the needle of his command into her heart.

She said, quietly, "Do it, you fucking coward. You were always a fucking coward. You think your cock scares me? It's as sad and pathetic as you are."

And Wesker laughed. He laughed, watching her there on the table. "Does it give you courage to talk that way? I wonder, really, who's voice that is coming out of your mouth. Is it Chris? He's always been a pretentious pain in the ass."

"He's a thousand times the man you are."

"Clearly you think so. As you leapt to your death to save him. Tell me, do you think he's searching for you? Or perhaps he's moved on already. The spread of a woman's thighs will only keep you mourning for so long after all. And yours are no different than any other woman's."

Jill laid perfectly still, watching him with that fucking needle. He'd been shooting her full of that shit for weeks now. It was like dying and being trapped inside your own shell while you died. If she ran, he'd make it worse, she knew that. It was the first time, today, that he'd tried to get her to do his bidding without it.

She might have obeyed and saved herself the needle…but she couldn't. She couldn't just kill because he said so. No. Not ever. The nightmares that haunted her would be a thousand times worse for it if she did.

She said, "You don't know him at all, Wesker. You never did. He's going to kill you because you will never know what he fights for. You think it's me? It's so much more than that."

"Oh without a doubt." Wesker smiled and gave her his back. And she wanted to run. Right now. She wanted to leap off the table and run. "Right now? It's me. He's after me. I will drive him. I will be his purpose, his strength, his reason. He will fight on, long after he should have given up, to find me and destroy me. It's my gift to him."

Jill watched him pace, timing herself.

"And when he finds me? Well, I'll make him mine. Like I've done with you. You'll help me. Because I'll hollow you out until there's nothing left but my will inside of you. You'll be my puppet…and Chris? He'll be my golem. All those muscles of his…they'll be good for crushing skulls and bones. Don't you think? Useless of course against a god…but good for killing mortals."

And Jill said, quietly now, "You touch him and I'll destroy you. I'll take you apart a piece at a time until there's nothing left of you but your stupid glasses and your pathetic cock. And then I'll burn them both and piss on the ashes."

Wesker laughed now, delighted. "Ah yes. Yes. All kinds of Chris in this room. Will you submit? If I leave him alone, will you submit?"

Her silence was loud.

"A hard question, no doubt. But an easy enough answer. Yes or no?"

"No." And she rolled now and leapt. She leapt off the table and sprang into a front tuck. She hit the far door and raced through it, naked and determined.

She burst into the foyer of the stupid mansion where he was keeping her and fled to the far door. Her hand gripped the knob and jerked. She saw the sunlight and felt it. His hand in her hair.

He jerked her away and threw her. She flipped, fast and scary, and smashed into the wall. It felt like fire and fury and death up her spine. She slumped, gasping, and tried to get away when he grabbed her throat.

He lifted her, dangling her. She gasped, kicking and choking. "You will submit, Jill. If you don't? I will use you to kill him. I will have you hunt him and kill him. He will let you. He's a fool. He will hold you while you stab him to death. Submit. Or I will kill you both."

She gasped as he lowered her to the floor and coughed, getting her breath back. She whispered, "Fuck…you…"

And he backhanded her. A flash. A firey slap across her cheek. It spun her around. He shoved her against the wall on her face, held her arms above her head, and jerked open her legs. She felt the fire of fear in her belly that he'd do it. He'd rape her now.

And he put his hand over her, cupping.

Terrified, furious, she froze, breathing hard and fast.

"Shall I rape you, Jill? I find it tasteless. Crass. But it does make a point. Or perhaps we should find Chris? Maybe I'll rape him instead. Would that force you to submit? Maybe I'll have him RAPE YOU. Would you like that? Would it be rape? With the drug on you both. Humping like harried beasts while I command you."

Jill said nothing, frozen.

"Yes or no, Jill? ANSWER ME." He pressed his fingers at the entrance of her body and scared her to death.

She said, "Pig. You fucking pig. I'd rather let you rape me a thousand times a day then EVER submit to you."

Wesker laughed, amused and impressed with her sheer grit. Pointless, of course, but impressive. He put his lips against her ear and breathed, "Keep fighting, Jill. Eventually? I always win."

And he shoved the syringe into her neck.

She bucked and fought but it was pointless. She was done. She went under and he had her. Just like that. Always…just like that.

…

Silver Lake, Montana 2017

"He knew enough to use you as leverage." She was still staring at the ceiling. She wasn't even aware of the shift in the air. She couldn't know what was boiling inside of him beside her. "He always used you to scare me or push me. Eventually? I started to submit without the drug. Not always. Not all the time. But sometimes I would, trying…trying to find a way to get away. I would just do it. I would just…I would kill for him. "

She shifted, watching the flicker of headlights from the highway over the darkened walls. "He was always touching me. I think it was another way for him to make me feel like he owned me. He would touch my breasts, touch my belly. He would…touch me everywhere. He never raped me. Not like that. But he made sure I knew he owned me. He'd pump the drug into me and make me kiss him. He'd have me sit on his lap and he'd fondle me while his minions laughed. It was…never anything but a game to him. It was a power play. He had the antibodies in my blood. Why keep me around? The drug kept me pliant. It kept me quiet. When it wore off, I was always a little emptier, a little more lost. He sent me up against BSAA troops in Brazil. I killed them all and he laughed, laughed, while I slaughtered men I'd once stood beside in battle."

Jill sighed and sat up on the bed now, curling her arms around her knees. "He put a bag on the head of a man once. I couldn't see his face. He threw him on the floor in front of me. The drug wasn't in me then. And he said for me to kill him. He said it was you. It might have been you. He was as big as you. And that I should kill you. If I didn't? He would have you rape me or give you to his perverted minions to rape you. Wouldn't Miracella like to rape you? She had such fun with men. I think he had that fucking pervert Alesio with him even then. Because I could always hear the screaming. I didn't know if it was you. If it wasn't you. I was so afraid. And I couldn't let him have you…no. I couldn't let that happen."

She put her face in her knees and she was shaking now. She was shaking so badly.

He finally shifted and laid his hand on top of hers. A simple, soft and quiet show of strength.

"I picked up the knife from the table. And I was shaking. I was crying. I drove it into you…into that man…I drove it into you over and over again. I was screaming and I was crying. I butchered you while he laughed. I kept asking you to forgive me. Could you just forgive me? I would save you from him. It was better dead than in his hands. Better dead. If you would just forgive me." She took a long slow breath, "They took your body away and I sat in your blood and wept. Madly. Painfully. I wept and wept. And it was brilliant, Chris. It was brilliant on his part. Because he made me think you were dead. So..I just…I started to give up."

Damn him. The fire in his blood was going to kill him. He'd never known. Ever. What he did to her. How he'd used her and him against each other. Always. Even then. He'd made a deal with the devil and killed them both with it.

He shifted again and she opened her eyes. He was kneeling there on the bed now, watching her. She cupped his hip, rubbing. And he rotated toward her. She opened her legs and laid back on the bed. And Chris slid between them, bracketing her face in his hands. He held her eyes now and kissed her, soft and slow.

She made a sound, feeling the push of tears. "I was almost gone when you found me. Inside that husk, I was screaming. Because you were alive. Alive. And I knew he'd lied. He'd lied. So he could have another way to control me."

Chris said, quietly, "If I'd have known, ever, EVER, I would have killed him slowly. Slowly and a thousand times. I will find him, Jill. There are only so many places he can hide. There is no place safe for him now. If I'd have known, I wouldn't have submitted to him when he had me. I would have made sure Rebecca and Leon's baby was safe and I would have killed him. I know….I KNOW how it feels to be in that shell and afraid of yourself. I know it. Don't be ashamed of it and don't be sorry for it. Because he didn't win. You're still here. I'm still here. And we will hunt him down, together, and destroy him. The bad news? He gave us the skills to do that. He's the architect of his own demise. Don't feel sorry for us, Jill. Feel sorry for him. Because he signed his own death warrant the moment he touched you. I already killed his ass once. I'm going to kill him again. And I'm going to enjoy it."

"…tell me. Tell me what it was like when he had you."

She watched it echo across his face. She saw the push and swirl of fear in him for it. She knew it was bad. She knew it was awful. She knew it…because she'd lived it. But what had it been like for the man that Wesker had been trying to control for twenty years?

She was afraid the answer of it would kill him.

Schloss Wiedereinführen, Germany 2017

The moment he awoke, he knew he was fucked. He wasn't just fucked, he was fucked up and there was no stopping the feeling of it. It was utter and complete loss of control. It was failure on levels that were no longer accessible in a human heart.

He awoke to find Alesio watching him, licking his mouth.

"Ah! My..bello trastullarsi. You rise. I am thrilled to see it. Come and give me a kiss."

And Chris thought, blow it out your ass, you fucking bastard. But his body? Well his body moved forward and kissed the other man. He didn't just submit to it, he encouraged it. It was a tongue and teeth and horror.

It was the moment he knew that whatever they'd been pumping him full of was going to make him their puppet. He was inside his head, he was there, he was ALL THERE, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. Alesio popped their mouths apart, shivering.

"Oh, what a man you are! What a man. I wish…I wish that I was still intact so that I could show you my pleasure in you." He skimmed his hands over Chris' body, touching and delighting in the shape and size of him. He touched him as he spoke, almost like he was inspecting a race horse. "You are all muscle, beautiful and sinuous and sexual. I thought, briefly, of taking my little American agent as well. His face. His beautiful face. He is an angel, no? Well…no more, it would seem. Maria did get…carried away. But she loved her father…so it was mercy to end him that way at least? Yes?"

He was playing with Chris' body now, smoothing down his spine and over his ass. "What fun I would have had with you and him. I would have made the two of you lovers. Would that have been fun? You would mount him like a stallion while he screamed. Oh..Ohhhhh." Alesio shivered, shivered, and curled against his back like a cat.

Inside of his head, Chris Redfield was seething. He wasn't afraid. Not yet. But he would be before the day was over. At least, in this particularly horrible scenario, it was Kennedy that was the bitch and not him so at least that was something.

"He was soooo pretty. And you? You are so big. He would bleed and cry from you. Oh. He would. And you would learn to love the ride of it. Yes. Women are so simple. And so stupid. And easy. They squeal and flop like pigs when you poke them. But men? You must split the open and take them. You would be more cock. You will be my shaft. I will mold you to love it."

Alesio kissed his neck and moved around him, "You wish to speak to me? I can see something in those empty eyes of yours. Is it rage? Are you angry, mio bellocio? Are you mad with me? Don't be angry. I will reward you for your service to me…I promise it."

He walked toward the far door of the empty room where Chris had awoken. At the door, he gestured, excitedly. "Come! Come! Let me show you what I have for you. FOR US! You are mine now. I share with what is mine. Albert was thrilled to provide it."

He opened the door and Chris walked through it, just like that. No stopping. No anything. He channeled his rage and tried. He tried to stop. His body didn't care.

Wesker was there, perched like an ugly parrot on the table against the wall. He smiled, eyes hidden behind those fucking glasses. He smiled and gestured with his head.

"Albert!" Alesio was thrilled he was there. "You've come for the show?"

"Naturally."

"Oh, how wonderful!"

Alesio kissed Chris again and giggled like a girl. He was naked save for an apron. Chris was entirely naked and had been pretty continuously since they'd taken him. It seemed perverts were all about the twig and berries flapping in the wind.

Alesio kissed his shoulder and gestured to the white sheet stained with blood that was hanging like a horror movie in front of them. When he pulled back the curtain, what would they find? Giggling, he pulled the curtain.

The woman there was terrified. She was still dressed although he'd ripped the skirt of her pink dress somewhere in the process. The man beside her unconscious and missing an arm. He appeared to be alive and the stump at his elbow was pumping blood pretty steadily. It had been torn clean off with little regard for the damage to the bone and muscle beneath.

He was nailed to a board like a spitted prize. She was bound to the ceiling with her arms above her head. She was beautiful, beneath the sweat and the fear. Her hair was long and icy blonde and her eyes blue. He knew, he KNEW, why'd they chosen her.

She looked like Jill. And the man beside her? He was handsome and young and clearly meant to reflect Leon. Chris could feel the burn of the rage in his soul for it.

Alesio said, giggling, "Is she not pretty? She speaks no English. But she won't need it. The boy tried to protect her. So brave. But I showed him what happens when you hit me."

Alesio wrapped his arms around Chris and sighed. "We will make them beautiful together. Yes? We will make art. Look at my art!"

If he'd not been horrified by what was in front of him, Chris would have seen it sooner. His "art" was all along the walls. It was contorted and gutted and bloated carcasses of the dead. They were preserved, clearly, or they would have smelled and alerted the viewer to their demise. But they were pinned and nailed and twisted like sculptures around metal and wood and horror. Bone and blood and brainless cavities, missing breasts and flayed open like fish. They were shoved inside each other, on each other, Frankenstein monster stitched together and sealed with glue and glitter. These had been people, Chris thought with horror and grief for those who'd died, husbands and wives and children.

All these people tortured and maimed and mutilated for his pleasure. It was worse, worse, worse somehow than zombies. It was worse. Because they'd died knowing they were being used as nothing but depraved artwork for a madman. It was horrifying.

The pain of what they'd faced was enough to have him coming out of the drug. It helped him shake off the shackles of it and feel himself again, a little, inside of his head. He whispered, "Why?"

Wesker laughed now, darkly, "I told you. He resists. The boy scout. The hero. He resists."

And Alesio looked up, thrilled. "Oh! You are so beautiful. You fight the poison in you for people you've never met? I had heard that. That you are…altruista. That will give up yourself for those you protect. Oh…ohhhh. I am going to spend days sculpting you. DAYS."

Chris shifted and Alesio said, "Fight it and I will inject you again. Obey? I will give you the world."

He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Let them go. I'll obey. Let them go and I'll do whatever you want."

"Interesting," Alesio tilted his head, watching him, "Is it her? She does resemble your…partner? Your…woman? Your lover?"

Chris said nothing.

"Ah. All three it would seem? But no…I saw her from the window with your pretty faced agent. So she was his lover as well…oh…OHHH…" Thrilled by the thought he'd just had, Alesio said, "Were you a triumvirato? Were you all lovers together?"

Chris snorted a little. "No. I wasn't cornholing, Leon Kennedy. So get that excited look off your face."

"Cornhole!" Alesio giggled and hooted with delight. "Americans! Such silly words. You will do whatever I ask, you handsome devil. I will make sure of it. If I want you to "cornhole", you will. I promise you. Albert might enjoy watching you, in fact. Will you fuck another man in front of Albert?"

Wesker seemed curious himself. The soulless prick. Chris wanted to take the knife there and cornhole him with it. He wanted to shove the blade into his old Captain and watch him pump blood and wither and die. It was nearly insane how much he wanted that.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done to hold his tongue right now. He was full of all kinds of stupid, brash, and brave remarks. He was going to die in this place, probably, but he would NOT do it being butt fucked to death by the perverts that operated as the right and left hand of Albert Wesker. Dying was one thing, dying like that? There was no justice in the universe that would take a man who'd dedicated his life to protecting others to die at the mercy of people like this.

None.

Alesio said, "Go. Take the girl. Fill her up and make her scream. She is my gift to you."

He was frozen, looking at her frightened face. She was shaking her head. He tried to tell her with his eyes that he wouldn't. He wouldn't. He wouldn't do that. He whispered it now, "What?"

"Oh yes. I know you are not a lover of men. I know that. You may have the boy too if you'd like. I brought him because I wasn't sure if you were lovers with the pretty faced agent too. I brought them both for you. To show you how happy I am to have you with me. You may have them both."

"Let them go. Please."

Alesio sighed and kissed him. "No. But if you take her and make me enjoy it? I will end her suffering for you."

"You'll let her go?"

"I'll let her go. I will not release them both. No. I brought them for my art. I must keep one. But I will release the girl from her torture here."

The girl was sobbing now, afraid. She couldn't understand them. But she knew it was bad. She was begging him with those big blue eyes to help her. He wanted to. He just didn't know how. How did he get them out of here alive?

The man with all the answers had none. He was fucked. She was fucked. They were all fucked.

"Hurry! I am growing bored."

Oh god.

Chris shifted and moved toward her. She started sobbing, shaking her head. Jesus. Jesus Christ. He was supposed to what? Fuck her? Touch her? What? He couldn't get a fucking hard on to rape her. There was no way. He wasn't capable of that. What the hell could he do here?

He cupped her face and wished he knew Italian. He didn't. He wasn't Leon Kennedy.

He said, "I'm sorry. I am. I'm so sorry."

He kissed her mouth and she shook her head, slumping forward. Oh god. How did he do this? He channeled Jill and kept her face there in his head. He channeled her and poured his soul into the sound of her, the feel of her, the taste of her. If he could see Jill, touch her, maybe he could do this. Maybe he could save them.

Alesio said, "You are too slow. You need help? I will get the needle."

Jesus.

Wesker said, "Make your choice, Chris. Quickly."

Chris said, urgently, "Please. I need you to just..I have to do this. I have to. If I do it? He'll let you go. Do you understand anything I'm saying?"

She didn't. But she was understanding the gentle tone he was using at least. She looked less afraid. He tried to gesture and show her. She was trying to nod.

He leaned a little forward and she leaned in to. She kissed him back, urgently. Ok. OK. She got it. She understood. Maybe. He lifted her little dress.

Alesio was giggling. "Yes! Like that. You enjoy her? She is so excited. She senses you are virile."

God.

Chris put his mouth to her ear, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The girl met his eyes. She seemed to understand that he was as trapped as she was. She seemed to get it now.

She kissed his cheek.

And he was being comforted by the girl he was being forced to rape. Christ. He was going to burn this place down and piss on the ashes. Jill, he thought desperately, HURRY. I don't know how long I'll last here. Hurry. HURRY.

He touched her under her little dress and she made a sound. Yeah, she was scared. He was scared. And he didn't think he'd be able to get fucking wood to do this. His legendary cock was going to fail him when he needed it most. He'd been throwing wood for over thirty years and he couldn't get it to pop up and save them.

He pictured Jill. He pictured her face above him, her mouth around him. He pictured the flush of her breasts while he kissed them. He could almost taste her, almost feel her, almost touch her. He slipped his hand into the little panties of the woman dangling and touched her.

She made another sound of fear and the hard work was for nothing. He couldn't get excited to do this.

Wesker said, "He's failing you, Alesio. He won't perform. I'm growing bored."

Chris said, finally, "Get off the fucking table and come join the party then, Wesker. I'll entertain the hell out of you."

"Such brave words from someone too cowardly to perform. You won't turn the tide here, Chris and force a fight. You are wasting your time."

Alesio said, "What a fucking gentleman you are. It is alright, mio bellocio. I will help you."

Chris said, "Wait! Wa-"

And it didn't matter anymore. It was too late for wait. Alesio shoved the needle into his neck and hit the plunger.

Chris gasped and jerked. He whispered, "I'm so sorry."

The girl was crying again. And he was done. He was washed away beneath the control of it. He felt it stamp him down, felt it bury him, and burn away his control. It was horrible and frightening and infuriating. He gasped and jerked, grunting with the pain of it.

Alesio said, "Do it. Now. Take her."

Chris ripped her panties off her body. She was screaming. She was screaming as he ripped her dress open and bared her breasts. She was screaming while he jerked her up and shoved into her body. There was no problem with it now, no trouble. He was hard and ready. She wasn't. She wasn't even moist. She was dry and scared and screaming. And she was bleeding all over him while he fucked her raw. Because the girl? She wasn't just not ready. She was a virgin too. And he was just a big, fat, horrible cock stealing her soul.

Oh god. OH GOD. It was like watching his body from a thousand miles away. He could see out of his eyes and couldn't stop it. Not even close.

Alesio put the knife his hand and told him to use it. And he did it. He kept on fucking her and cutting her up with the knife while she screamed.

And Wesker? He was enjoying it all to hell now. Alesio was pleased by that, obviously.

When the man awoke, Alesio turned his head to watch them. The man started to struggle and Alesio said, "Chris? If you would. Stab him."

And Chris drove the bloody knife into the man's stomach.

Oh god.

Alesio was laughing as Chris carved up the other man. He turned, slashing and swiping and spilling blood in arcs and bursts of red and ruin. Shallow and painful, the slashing did little more than hurt. It didn't kill. Alesio hadn't said kill. He said stab. He said cut. He never said kill.

Alesio said, "Finish in her please."

Chris stabbed the knife into the man again while he dangled, defeated and bleeding everywhere. He turned back to the girl, hiked up her legs to his hips and shoved into her unwilling body. She was shoving and slapping and smacking him while he used her. She slapped his face and he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything but the horror lost beneath the drug.

Alesio said, "Shut her up please."

And Chris backhanded her. She went silent, sobbing now.

Inside his head, he was screaming. He was screaming. He was trapped in his body and screaming. The nightmares would haunt him for the rest of this life.

He finished, blowing his load in the sobbing woman on command. Alesio was giggling and stroking his sweaty skin. He said, "What a good boy you are. What a man. What a show! You've killed him…I'm afraid."

And he was right. The man that was dangling there was dead, bled out from the knife in his belly. Oh god, Chris though in his head, oh my god. I'm so sorry. Forgive me.

"So, I will need to keep her. I did promise to let her go. But I can't. I must have my muse for the day…if you would? Cut her left breast off for me."

Chris jerked the knife from the dead body of the man. NO, his mind screamed, NO. STOP! STOP! But he didn't stop. He couldn't. He just did it. He hacked her body up while Alesio instructed him. He hacked and slashed and bled her.

Wesker was thrilled with it. He was dangling his feet off the table and laughing. He was so happy. Like a kid with candy. Like a kid with a toy. Happy happy happy.

And Chris didn't stop. He didn't stop. The horror of it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

….

Silver Lake, Montana 2017

"When I resisted? They had me whipped. Usually it was Alesio wielding the whip. But Maria enjoyed it as well. And Wesker on the rare occasions he stopped in. Her face…that first girl. It was your face. So I raped you and cut you up and killed you. And they always brought girls that looked like you…or Claire."

Horrified, Jill touched his face.

"Yeah. Claire. Alesio, when he had his fucking balls, had fucked his brother all the time. So he liked the incest. He loved it. He had me fuck girls that looked like Claire. He had me kill them. He kept telling me to fill their bellies with babies….Christ." He rolled to his back and put his hands over his face. It killed her. It killed her.

She was crying. She didn't know when she'd started crying. It didn't matter.

He said, "They brought Claire. Actually Claire..finally one day. Alesio told me he'd have me rape her. Rape her while she screamed. Oh god…I was so afraid. Real he-man right? Real tough guy that I am. I was afraid of them. I tried to get her to run and she didn't. Stupid girl. She wouldn't leave me."

"She loves you. She loves you. She would never leave you there."

"Ada…she was the only chance we had. We bonded to her. She protected Rebecca, the baby. She protected Claire from Wesker. I traded myself that day. Finally. All in. I just…I gave up, Jill. I gave up. And I can, never, ever forgive myself for it."

"There is NOTHING to forgive, Chris. Nothing. You have nothing to forgive. Don't. Don't let it happen like that. You had no choice. None."

"That's what we tell ourselves right? That's what we say. But it doesn't make it ok, Jill. What I did? It doesn't make it ok."

She'd asked him to talk. She wanted to feel it with him. They were the only people in the world who could ever understand what it meant to be in his control. The horror would never leave. Ever. But it might be a little easier to share it.

"I should have come for you," It was so grief filled when she said it, "I should have come for you. I tried to find you. I swear to god I tried."

And he rolled again now and took her face in his hands. "Look at me. Look at me now. This is not your fault. Any of it. Ever. There's no blame in me for you. None. You were with him for three fucking years, Jill. Three. I will never understand how you survived it and came back to me."

"Maybe we don't. Not entirely. Maybe we just…come back. And we're never whole again. Not really."

"When I saw your picture on that phone…there was no stopping me. I wasn't leaving without you."

Jill made a small sound, holding on to him. "You called Leon. You called him to help you get me back."

"…yeah. Yeah, I did. I'd do it again. I didn't know then what he was to you. But I should have. He helped me tear the world apart to find you. I can't stop the love he has for you. I can't stop the love you have for him. And I can't take his place. Where my place is? That's up to you."

Jill grabbed his and held on now. She shifted her body and he slid into her, making them both gasp with it. She said, "Your place is with me. With me. The rest of it? That's something we figure out later. Make me forget. Chris, make us both forget."

There was nothing he wanted more. Ever. Than that. And so, he said, "…done."

…

BSAA HQ

It wasn't easy. It wasn't ever easy. Ever. To love a woman in love with another man. He watched her struggle with it. He watched her yearn. He watched her long for him.

He watched her ignore phone calls and texts. The idiot. The fucking idiot. Didn't he understand what she was doing here? She was letting him go. Didn't he understand that?

He finally called Claire one afternoon to get the answers.

"What the fuck, Claire?"

"What?"

"He keeps calling her. What are you doing there? Go jump on his nuts and get him to stop."

Claire laughed a little, loving him. Her brother. What a guy. "No. Steve, remember? That guy? He's my guy, you big oaf. I'm not going to go jump on Leon's nuts. And guess what? He doesn't want me to. He…loves her. He loves Jill."

Chris watched Jill talking with Mira. She was smiling and laughing. He'd done his best to make her happy. She was. She seemed better almost daily. But she kept checking her phone. And she kept hurting.

He said, finally, "Is the right thing to get out of the way here, Claire? Tell me the truth. Tell me. He loves her, she loves him…am I in the way?"

Claire was watching Leon with the baby. He was singing to her and strumming his guitar. He was good. He really was. Living with him these last months, it was good. They were best friends and raising his baby. It was easy and simple. And he mourned Rebecca….and he mourned Jill.

He'd clearly loved Jill. Clearly. But what did that mean exactly? When was love…simply not enough?

So she answered her brother, "You tell me. Are you in the way? He loves her. But he'll be ok without her. Will you? If you lost her tomorrow, Chris, would you be ok?"

He watched her laugh again and she turned, caught his eyes, and smiled. And that was it. It had always been it. She was his. And he wasn't the type of man to bow out or go down…not without swinging. "No. There's only one way this goes down for me."

"How?"

"In flames."

He hung up the phone and turned to Quint who was pounding away on his computer. He caught Chris looking at him. "What's up, Cap?"

"I need you to gather everyone together in the conference room. Ten minutes."

"Coolio."

They were all scattered around the big room, leaning, flopping, sighing. He glanced at Barry, at Mira and Gertie, and Jill who was watching him with interest. And he started speaking. The man who never took a break, the man who never stopped fighting. He said, "I'm taking a sabbatical."

Quint fell out of his chair. He literally toppled himself over in surprise. Mira said, "Is there a camera in here catching the prank?"

Barry queried, "Is there a convention or something on bioterrorism?"

Gertie added, "Are you finally going to Thailand to train with those monks, boss? It's about time."

His team. They couldn't understand what he was saying. He rolled a paperweight in his hand and studied them. He sighed and said, "Nope. Not work related. I'm just taking a break."

"You're what?" Joel, with an IQ of 180, looked confused, "You're doing what?"

"I'm taking a vacation. A break. No work. No missions. Nothing. I'm….done." He turned and set the paper weight down on the table. "For now? I'm done. That's it. In the interim? Keith and Parker will serve as mission lead operatives under Barry."

Parker Luciani, a handsome man with a full beard and a big laugh, said in a rich Italian accent, "You deserve the break, boss, obviously. But do you want to tell us when you'll be back?"

"Nope. I might not."

"What?" Mira was blinking. "Wait what?"

"I might not come back. Ever. We'll see. Right now? This isn't where I need to be. So I'm done. Thank you, all of you, for what you've done here. But my time here? I think it's done." He rose from his chair, "Parker and Keith? Coordinate with Barry on my upcoming missions and split them between the two of you. Me? I'm taking off this uniform and going to get my boat. After that? Who the hell knows."

They watched him go like he'd just announced he was going to run for Pope. Or to be President. Or that he had cancer and was dying. It was amusing and probably said a lot about what had held all his time and attention all these years.

Jill stepped into his office as she was emailing all the necessary people to inform him of this decision. He glanced up at her and smiled. She said, leaning on the door, "What's in your head, Redfield?"

"…you."

Oh, it was a good answer. She lifted a brow at him. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. It's time. I've spent my whole life fighting. I've missed out on every other part for it. I'm done fighting."

"You'll never be done fighting. It's who you are."

"No." He rose now and moved around the desk. She moved too and he met her in the center of his office. He caught her face in his hands. "No. It's what I DO. It's not who I am, Jill. Who I am? Is a guy who wants to be with you. So I'm asking you…I'm asking you to take the time off with me. And go with me."

"…you want me to leave this behind and just go with you?"

"Yeah I do."

"Where?"

"Everywhere. Anywhere. I have to…make a stop first. And then? Wherever the fuck you want to go."

She studied his face. It was so calm, so simple, and so patient. He wasn't struggling here. He was content with it. He was content with her. And she said, "Yeah. I say yes. Let's just go. Right now."

"Right now?"

"Oh yeah. Right now."

"Done." He grinned and picked her up, dumping her over his shoulder. She was laughing as he left the office, carrying her over his shoulder and whistling. He jiggled her there and swatted her fanny. She bit his back and made him laugh so loud that it brought attention to them. But neither cared. She bit his ass, dangling upside down, and he groped her bottom.

She yelled, "WHOA! Flag on the play there, Captain."

"Be silent woman. I'm having a caveman moment here."

Mira watched them go, chuckling.

Gertie said, "What about the unicorn?"

Mira chuckled again, "She traded the unicorn for the hammer. I'm guessing he's gonna pound her flat."

"Lucky girl."

"Something like that. You ever seen him…ever…look like that?"

Gertie shook her head, "No. He loves her."

"He doesn't just love her. She's his fucking unicorn."

She was. She was his unicorn. To hold onto her? He had to get rid of hers.

….

Chris rolled the truck up the drive again. Jill was waiting for him in Bora Bora. It was the start of something real there. Something painful but real and it had to start here for her.

Chris climbed out of the truck and moved up to the house. Claire opened the door and came out. The baby was adorable now. She was smiling at him and blinking in his sister's arms.

Chris touched her little face and she giggled. She was Rebecca but tiny…or tinier. And she had Leon Kennedy's smile.

Chris said, "Send him out."

Claire held his gaze. "Why?"

"Send him out, Claire. So I can talk to him."

"You gonna kick the shit out of him?"

"Nope. Just send him out."

"…ok. But don't be stupid." She turned back to the house and Chris turned to look out over the porch. It was a cool day, clear, and sunny. It would be a cold winter.

He heard the door open and felt him step up there to lean on the railing. Chris turned his head and looked at him. Admittedly, he looked good. The hair was coming in nicely and the scarring on his face was soft and nearly untraceable. He looked rest and alert and sober. Which was a huge step. The baby had given him back something.

Chris was glad for it. But it didn't change what had to happen here.

"You have to stop calling her."

Leon said nothing, watching the breeze rustle the trees in the distance. "That's asking a lot of me."

"Is it? You made a choice. She made a choice. Leave it be. And let her go."

Leon rolled his head to look at him. "You want me out of the way for what? So you can have her?"

Chris held that look. "Yes. I have her. She's mine. She's always been mine. But she'll never let me have her, not all of her, with you in the way. Get out of the way."

They held eyes. And Leon said, "I love her."

"I know that. I do. And I get it. But you didn't fight for her. And you didn't stay. And you and I both know you tried to get me out of the way….which means you don't even know her. Not really. You keep choosing everyone else over her. That's the wrong answer. And it's not love. Not the kind that lasts. You want to bind her to you? Why? You've done nothing but run from her as long as I known you. You have a rare opportunity to be a good guy here, Kennedy, and close the door. You've got the world in there. Go live in it. And let her go."

Leon rubbed his face, roughly. "Fuck."

"Yeah. I've said that a lot lately too."

"I don't know how it all fell apart."

"Sometimes? Shit just falls apart. I thought you knew that."

Leon laughed, a little brokenly, "You gonna make her happy?"

"Yeah I am. With you out of the way, I'm going to do nothing but make her happy. I retired today."

Surprised, they locked eyes. "What?"

"Oh yeah. I retired. It was time. I've been almost as bad as you. I've chased the fight for so long I forgot to chase her. So I'm gonna do that now. I'm gonna chase her. Move aside and let me catch her. Because she's mine. And I love her. I've never loved anyone else. Ever. But I love, Jill. Let me love her. And get out of the way."

Leon closed his eyes and breathed. Chris watched him and he felt sorry for him. He did. It was hard not to see it. The guy was a wreck for her. But hadn't they lost enough to each other? When was it time, finally, to say enough?

Chris said, softly, "I'm sorry like hell man. For all of it. All of it. But she's not your story."

Leon opened his eyes and they held, two different shades of blue and green and full of love for the same woman. Chris added, gently, "She's not your story. She's mine. Get out of the way."

Leon laughed a little and Chris heard the grief in it. And it hurt him to hear it. "Fuck. I want to fight you for her. Shit. I want to fight you for her."

Chris grabbed his shoulder now and squeezed. "I know that. I know exactly how that feels. You could. You can. I can't stop you. But I don't play fair and I fight dirty. And I like you, Leon. I do. You throw down here and now? We aren't friends anymore."

"I know that. And how can I do that? You fucking picked me up off the floor when I couldn't do it myself. You're my god damn friend, Redfield. I can't stand here and take your girl. I'm not that fucking guy."

They turned to face each other. Chris said, gently, "I'll rip you out of her. But you need to stay gone. For now? Stay gone."

"….alright." Chris watched him move now and stalk to the end of the porch. He stared off into the sky and he watched it hurt him. He watched it kill him. It should, he thought objectively, it should kill you to lose Jill. It should destroy you. He knew all about it. "I feel like you just keep feeding me my fucking stomach here."

"Yeah," Chris said gruffly and stood up, "That's how it feels to lose Jill. Like a kick in the dick that ends in your throat. You're done hurting her. Done. She's mine now and I'm not gonna just stand there while you ride around on top of her and crush her anymore. That's what it means to love her."

"I never meant, ever, to hurt her. I'm sorry I did. I'm sorry it nearly killed us both. I'd take it back if I could. I swear to god I would."

They caught hands and held. A guy hug.

"I know that too," Chris relented, watching that agonized face. That's what love looked like when it went bad, when it was too hard, and when you couldn't hold on anymore. It looked like Leon Kennedy's face. "Go…inside and hug my sister. Or kiss your baby or something. You fucking mess. Seriously."

And now Leon laughed again, brokenly. "Shit. It was always you in the way, big guy. Always. You know that."

"I do. If I wasn't such a fucking idiot, I'd have been in the way before you ever got there."

"Can't be sorry about that personally. There's no one else in the world like her. I just wish I hadn't been such an idiot about it too."

"Don't be too sorry. That kid in there? She's here because of that idiot. Remember that."

And now he softened. And there it was, Chris thought, the love. It was written all over him. Didn't he understand that? Rebecca, Ada, Jill they weren't his story. Faith was his story. How he told it and how it went and how it ended, that was all up to him.

He moved down the porch and away. Leon watched him go and grabbed the railing to the porch. He didn't go after him, he didn't fight for her, and he didn't win her back.

And it was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

….

There was no Leon Kennedy between them. Not that they spoke of anyway. When he met her in Bora Bora, he did what Chris Redfield was known to do: he went whole hog, no bullshit. He retired like he fought, fist, face, and finished. He put down the sword and picked up a Mai Tai and seemed at peace with it.

Jill lay on the towel beside him in the sand and watched him. He was leaning on his elbows while the sun gilded his skin. He was already tanned a beautiful bronze anyway, natural luck and genetics, but the sun brought out the salt and pepper in his hair and reflective off the yellow polarized sunglasses he wore. It was barely seven a.m. and he was already in need of a shave. Not that she ever cared if he shaved again. He was the rare kind of man that could rock a beard like a champion.

She lifted her hand to trace the smooth spill of scars down his shoulder to the top of his biceps. He glanced down at her where she lay. She smiled at him. "You've been quiet since you got here. You want to tell me where you went first?"

It was still surprising to see her hair dark and short again. Admittedly, he liked it. Clearly it was what he'd seen on her in the beginning and for years. Her blonde hair had become the standard after she'd gotten back from her time with Wesker. He didn't press her on details about it.

It was just another way he'd done what she wanted.

So maybe it was now time to stop doing what she wanted all the time. He said, "I went to see Kennedy."

She jerked a little in surprise. He looked out over the ocean for a long moment. The sounds of a seagull crying somewhere in the distance was relaxing. The sky was made more beautiful by the fluffy white clouds that poofed and poured across the sprawling line of blue like marshmallows. The sea here was translucent and glittering, the water a foamy toss of cerulean delight that ensnared even as it encircled you with its pretty temptation.

The white, white, white sand was flawless and as far as the eye could see. Palm trees and coconuts were common place and heavy along the craggy horizon. The sounds of surf and tide offered the ears a pleasing suggestion of music and relaxation. It was a corner of the world where on went to bathe in the sun and pretend, for a little while, that there was nothing else but this.

She said, softly, "You want to tell me why?"

She'd stopped touching him. He turned his head to look at her again. She sat up now on the towel in that bathing suit she wasn't really wearing. It was white and flimsy and made of little more than thought and sin. It left the bounty of her breasts and the mystery of her naval to the eye and imagination and forced the brain to picture sex and sand and sunshine on the perfect plains of her pale flesh.

Chris answered now, blandly, "I told him to get fucked and get lost."

Jill blinked at him. He blinked back. She blinked again. He lifted a brow.

"What?"

"You did what?" And the question was very soft.

He could see the danger signs flashing all around her. But he wasn't going to lie about any of this. Honesty was their sing. He wasn't going to start lying now.

"I told him to get lost. It was time. So I pushed him out."

Jill slipped on her sunglasses and rose. "I see."

He watched her move, feeling the fire of it in his blood. Yeah. This is exactly what he figured she'd do when she found out. He didn't move, watching her. "Where ya going?"

"Away…you asshole. Away."

He grabbed her ankle. "Don't."

"Let go, Chris."

"Do NOT go back to the room and call him. Don't. Don't text him, don't email him, don't even fucking think about him. Not now. Not anymore. Do you understand me?"

And she said again, softly, "Let go of my leg."

He didn't. He said, "Sit down, Jill. I mean it. Would you have preferred I sit around with my dick in my hand and waited for you to find your way back to him? He wanted that too by the way. For you to come running back to him. Would you have?"

"No. And it wasn't your place to get involved in that."

Ok. He was a lot of things. He was patient to the point of being called a turtle. He was good natured and fun and endearing. And he was also fed up to his fucking eyebrows with this shit. He rose, somewhat like a leviathan from the depths of his own dark depths, and he grabbed her arm.

She glanced at his hand on her. "A bold move."

"Not having this out here, Jill. So, you can walk, I can carry you, or I can drag you. The choice is yours."

She held his gaze. Two pairs of sunglasses in the beautiful sunshine. "You wouldn't dare."

He dragged her a little closer to him by that arm. And his voice, low and angry, scared her…and it kinda thrilled her too. "Try me."

She walked, quietly seething. He carried her little bag. He was still, at the core of it all, a gentleman. They moved into the little condo they were renting and he sat her bag on the table beside the door.

The condo was beautiful, all windows and light and bright colors. It suited the view of the ocean and made her smile as they moved into the room. She turned back to look at him.

He was in the kitchen getting a beer. She crossed her arms, waiting.

He tossed his sunglasses on the counter. All the stainless steel appliances made a nice backdrop to him. He was, and would always be, as much a machine as he was a man. He fit there in that industrial space as much as he fit on the beach before. She said, "It wasn't your place to get involved with him and I."

He eyed her, very carefully, and she watched him consider what he was going to say. And then he said what he was thinking anyway, surprising them both. "The fuck it wasn't."

She winced at the harshness in his voice.

He took a long pull on the beer and slapped it down on the counter. And he came around into the wide living room where she stood like an angry storm. "That fucking guy? He's done here. You're done with him. He doesn't have a place here, between us, not anymore. He was half dead out there, I put the last fucking nail in that coffin for you."

Jill watched him, feeling the pain and the raw emotion that rolled her like a dirty secret. Her voice was so very quiet now, "You think you have the right to tell him to go away?"

"Yeah I do. This time? I do. You know why I do?"

"Enlighten me."

"Because I picked you up off the side of the road. Because I always pick you up. And him? He falls down in a hole and hides. He doesn't fucking deserve you. Now or ever. EVER. And I've had enough of you chasing him. That stops now."

She watched his face, trying to see her best friend in the man before her. Who was he? He was Chris but he wasn't. He was hers but he wasn't. But he was. HE WAS. He was hers now in a way he hadn't ever been before. They'd taken the risk, taken the chance, and if it fell apart now? It was done. And they were done. And this was why she hadn't ever risked him before. Ever.

Her Chris wasn't possessive. He wasn't jealous. And he didn't say things like this to her. He didn't command her, didn't threaten and didn't scare. Was she scared of him?

No. Not like that. But of this? Of what this meant? A little. Yeah she was.

She said, softly, "You're jealous of him."

Chris lifted his hands and laughed, bitterly, "Yeah I am. You're god damn right I am. Not because of what he can do. Maybe there was always that friendly edge of competition with him. But somewhere along the way? He drop kicked me right in the fucking heart and won. He got you. Why?"

"What?"

"You fucking tell me why Jill. Why? Yeah, I'm slow and I can be kinda stupid sometimes about heart stuff. I admit that. But that guy? He did nothing but duck left, duck right, and kick you off a cliff. You can't tell me there is one damn thing there worth running back to."

Jill shifted angrily and stalked into the bedroom. He watched her and followed. She jerked off her bikini top and shimmied out of the tiny bottoms. Naked, she was…she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And it distracted him from his rage to watch her move.

Her though? She kept on going, angry and beautiful. "Your jealousy is misplaced. It's out of line. It's completely asinine. And worse? You don't even realize it. You can't scare him away from me, Chris. You can't fight him away. It doesn't work that way."

"Why not?"

She turned to him, all breasts and blue eyes and pale skin. Shit. He was just a mortal man here. He wasn't immune. She was trying to win the fight by stripping off her clothes. He was about to wave the white flag and surrender.

"He's a good man. He is. He's dark and lost and lonely. But he's a good man. I bet he bowed out. Didn't he? When you asked? I bet he bowed out."

Chris said nothing.

"Yeah he did. Of course he did. But that's the thing. You didn't have to go there. You didn't have to do that. Because he was already gone. I gave him up. I did that. I told you that. I told you that was done. You didn't trust me?"

"Of course I trust you." Exasperated, he watched her move into the bathroom to wash the beach off her. "It's HIM I don't trust. Him. I fucking know he's been calling and texting you."

Jill faced him now. "Yes he has."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"Go look at my phone."

"What?"

"Go look at it. Go ahead. I dare you." Jill climbed into the shower.

Shrugging, he went to get her phone. He pulled it out of her little bag and slid his finger on the lock to open it. The first picture made him smile. It was the two of them hanging upside down off the chopper on their last mission together.

And then he clicked the messages.

There were several from Claire with baby pictures. There were several from Moira Burton regarding questions about something regarding BOWS. There were several from him of course about dinner and various things. A few from work. And there it was. Kennedy.

He went into her contacts and changed the name, right off the bat. He changed his name to Buttplug. Why? Because he could.

And he clicked on the conversation. She'd told him to.

In the beginning, they were mostly unanswered and they innocuous enough. How are you? Etcetera. They became a little more urgent at one point. But the thing about it? They were all Kennedy. She rarely answered. Just the occasional polite response. And then the tone of them changed. It changed. And the last message she sent? It said: No hard feelings here, Leon. None. He makes me happy. Find your happy. He's given me mine.

Chris set the phone down. He took a deep breath and went into the bathroom.

She turned and he caught her in the water and put her against the wall. She grabbed his face and held on. "Do you understand? Do you get it? I meant what I said. He can chase me forever. There's nothing for him to catch anymore, Chris. Stop being jealous of him."

"…I'm trying."

"Try harder."

He kissed her, listening to the rush of water around them. And she was so sad for him. He was so scared of losing her. He'd gone all the way to Montana to threaten away the man he thought would steal her.

In one hand, she was touched. She was always touched by his love for her. It was so wide and encompassing. It was everywhere. In his hands, in his mouth, on his face and in his touch. Didn't he understand that she was only here? Only now? And there was no place here for Leon Kennedy between them.

They were still learning each other. They were still coming back from all those years of friendship that was edged with something painful and raw. They were still finding their way back to each other and the people they'd become.

She moved back from him enough to hold his face in her hands. "Tell me what you want."

This is how it started, she thought, how they found their way back. It was honesty and truth and no more time for lies or pretending. He was trying so hard. She loved him so much. Couldn't he see that?

He studied her face. And he gave her the only answer he had. "I want you to marry me."

Oh.

She felt the drop of it into her belly. She held his eyes. She didn't look away. But he had scared the living shit out of her. She said, "What?"

"Yeah. I meant it. That day in Italy. I said if you got him out, I'd marry you. I meant it Jill. I want to marry you. Now. Today. I don't give a fuck if he's still in there. That's how I get in there too. Let me in."

Jill scanned his face. And she said, "Yes."

He'd been gearing up for a fight about it. But there was no fight here. There was no more fighting. She'd put down the sword to be with him. The same as he had.

He said, "What?"

"Yes. Now. Right now?"

"Naked in the shower? I don't know that they do that kind of thing but we can give it a shot."

She laughed and looped her arms around him. "I can't give you back the time we lost, Chris. I can't go back and rewind it. But I can give you this."

"Are you sure?"

"This is how I show you. This is how you'll know. I'm yours." She grabbed his hand and put it against her chest. "Let me be yours."

They did it on the beach. Just the two of them. Jill in a little white dress that shifted in the wind. And him? Well he got to avoid the penguin suit after all. He wore a white shirt and khaki shorts. He got to marry her in their bare feet. It was the only way it could have gone.

For some, it would be the end of a long love affair. For them? It was the beginning of something real. It was how they began, again, to really start to find their way to each other.

He was scared shitless during the whole thing. She was cucumber cool. She'd never been more sure of anything. She knew this was how they began to tell their story together.

…

Sitting on the porch with the baby, Claire heard her phone beep at her. She opened it and made a sound. She put a hand to her chest and gave a wet laugh. The bastard…he'd done it without her there.

But it said: Wish you were here, C-Bear. Not entirely sure she wasn't drunk during the whole thing but she said yes. Can I introduce you to Mrs. Chris Redfield? You might have met before.

And there it was, Claire thought, the two of them. In the dying light of the sun, standing against the ocean that foamed and swirled beyond them. Whoever had taken the picture caught them perfectly, the girl and the boy who'd grown into the man and the woman that finally found their way to each other. She looked small next to him in her bare feet. He held her face and she held his wrists. No rings, Claire thought, nope. Just tattoos around their fingers. The eyes that held each other were deep and full and laughing.

Leon was on the porch swing beside her. She figured it was now or never about it. Honestly. He'd been good lately. Really good. They were as close as they'd ever been. He was so good with the baby, so happy. She was so sorry it was going to hurt him. Because she loved him and she loved Chris and Jill and they looked so happy. She said, "Hey."

"Hmm?"

"I think…you should see this."

And she offered him the phone.

She watched his face. And it killed her to see it. She'd been so happy with Steve lately that she hadn't looked at him that way in so long. But she wanted him to find someone to make him happy. It should have been Rebecca but she was gone. And it couldn't be Jill. Not anymore.

He laughed a little, wetly. "Well shit."

"I'm so sorry, honey. I am."

He touched the little picture and the woman there. And he smiled, sadly, "That's good. It's good for them. I'm happy for them."

Claire touched his face. And she swept away the tear on his cheek. "I'm sorry, Leon. For what it's worth."

"I'm not, Claire. He deserves her. And she? She deserves everything."

"You don't?"

He glanced down at Faith, asleep and happy. And he smiled. And it was beautiful. "I've got everything right here. Hard to be mad about it."

"You're doing a wonderful job with her, Leon. You know that. You know you are."

"Thank you. And thank you for staying. I've missed having you around so much."

"Me too. Thank you too. For Steve."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you're so happy."

"I am. Are you?"

He took Faith in his arms and rocked her, smiling a little. "I will be. I have Faith."

Claire was hoping, wherever they were, that the other two had as much faith. They'd just started down a very scary road together. She couldn't wait to see where it took them.


	3. Part 3

The Girl who was almost a sandwich: The Long and Winding Tale of Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, and the Boy Who Stood Between

ALTERNATE ENDING: AND ALL THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN….

"Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else."

― Sarah Cross, Kill Me Softly

:::::::::::::::::THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT PART 3::::::::::::::::::::::::::

So, she was married.

She was married.

To Chris Redfield. She was married to Chris Redfield. She was Jill…Redfield. She said, to her reflection in the mirror, "You're married to Chris Redfield."

She didn't even know he was behind her and he scared the crap out of her when he said, "That's the rumor."

She jumped and spun around, slapping a hand on her collarbone. "Oh. Shit. Hah. Oy. You scared me." She turned back to face herself and watch him.

He moved naked toward her and cupped his body behind hers as he prepared to shave.

He held her eyes in the mirror that spanned the whole wall of the ornate and expensive bathroom.

They were in Ireland now, staying at Ashford Castle. The irony of the name wasn't lost on either of them. But the castle? It was beautiful and majestic and situated in Mayo, Ireland. Honestly, Jill was consistently surprised at what he was willing to spend. Always a frugal man, he was sparing no expense here. It was 5 Star accommodations and private planes and beautiful, lush surroundings. She'd never thought of him as a man with money. But he appeared to have plenty and wasn't concerned or shy about showering it on her.

She turned a little and smeared the shaving cream on his face for him. He watched her and made her feel so small and feminine there against his big body. She took the razor in his hand and dragged it smoothly down his stubbled skin.

It was very, very domestic. And something they'd never done before. It was…what married people did? It was what married people did.

Married.

She said, "You married me."

And he lifted a brow at her as she moved the razor down his jaw. "I did."

"It's an odd feeling."

"Odd?"

"Oh yeah. It's odd. Should I hyphenate my name?"

"Do you want to hyphenate your name?"

"Do you want me to?"

He laughed a little and she dragged the razor over his chin. She could feel him against her body. She was in a little white nightgown that was simple and unadorned. She scraped the razor over his upper lip to eliminate the mustache trying to grow there.

He held her eyes while she shaved him. "Jilly Bean…you can keep your name entirely if you want. I'm not the type of man that needs you to take mine to prove anything."

He took the razor to scrape it over his face when she stopped. She stood there against him, watching him, and playing lazily with his chest hair while she did.

Touched, she studied him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You don't have to do it for me. I have you. I don't need to stamp my name on you like a brand to prove it."

She lifted her face and he lowered his to kiss her. It was smooth and soft. She said, "Maybe part of me thinks I don't deserve your name."

He stopped shaving and met her eyes. "What?"

Jill shrugged, a little nervous now. She tugged on his chest hair and got a grunt for her efforts. He caught her face and turned it up to him. "Up here, blue eyes. Tell me what you mean."

"You and Claire…you are both the type of people that just…you're just good. Just good in your bones good. Kind and considerate and simple. Good. I don't even feel like I deserve to have you most of the time. I don't think I deserve your name."

What a thing to say.

He dropped the razor in the sink and picked her up under the armpits. He set her on the vanity in front of him and she opened her legs so he could slide up against her. His hands pushed the nightgown up her thighs so he could hold her.

"Look at me."

She shrugged a little and he caught her throat, nudging her face up with his thumb. "Look at me, Jill."

She did now and he didn't like the look on her face at all.

"What kind of shit is this, Valentine? You're talking out your ass right now."

Jill laughed a little and shrugged. "I'm the thief's daughter. I've got no family. No money really. I'm terrible with investments and can't even balance my checkbook. I'm sloppy and lazy and kinda forgetful about paying bills or anything remotely concerning adulting that doesn't involve blowing shit up and knife play. I can crack a safe but I can't make sense out of online banking or set a schedule on my phone. And I'm a wreck, emotionally."

"…this is the worst speech anyone has ever given."

She laughed now, guileless. "Sorry. But look at you. You're at the top of your game here, Chris. You're in the prime of your life. You clearly…CLEARLY know how to save money. I have about sixteen dollars to mine. You command respect and sacrifice yourself to an almost scary degree. You have ties back to the dawn of time and family poked in pockets that you are still close with. You have Claire, who…let's be honest…is the best sister EVER. And you've been wasting yourself chasing around some stupid nothing of a girl for two decades. Why? You deserve better."

He held her face now, scanning it. And something in him that was still afraid of Leon Kennedy taking her away started to ease back a little. "Are you saying you think I'm too good for you?"

"I'm saying you've always been too good for me. One of these days? I kinda think you're gonna figure that part out."

"Dumb ass woman."

And now she laughed, undone. "…I also answer to Jill. For the record."

He laughed too and dropped his face to kiss her. They smeared the shaving cream between them. Words, he thought, that's what she wanted here. Words. So he said, "There are two things in the world that matter to me, Jill Valentine. Both of them are in love with Leon Kennedy. Proving that theory of yours? Entirely false. Clearly there is nothing here for you to worry about. You've always, always, been too good for me."

The pain of that arrowed into her chest. Her hands slid up his chest and gripped his face. She studied him, trying to see what was under all that good humor. She said, "I love you, Chris Redfield. I've always loved you."

She didn't call him a liar. And she didn't say she didn't love Leon Kennedy. But she didn't say she did either. It was a start.

Chris said, softly, "I can't do anything but love you, Jill Valentine. You?" He pointed at his chest and circled it, "You're all wrapped up in there. I honestly hope loving you kills me. I can't think of a better way to die."

Jill shifted toward him and slid her hands down to cup his hips. He lifted a brow as she rolled her fingers against his skin. "Whatcha doin there?"

"I think I'm groping you."

"Yeah? How's that workin out for ya?"

She glanced down at his body. And her eyes lifted again to his. Her cheeks were pink. Pink. Her cheeks were pink. She was..what? Nervous? She was flush with something. And he didn't think he'd ever been more charmed by her.

She said, softly, "It's clearly working for you."

"That's my constant state when you're around, kid. Clearly."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm a perpetual hard on. It's hard to work but I have learned to balance stuff on it at least. So it can also be useful."

Jill laughed a little and wiped some shaving cream off his chin with her thumb. "Is it awful?"

"It's pretty bad. I tuck it into my waistband to control it. But you know…it tries to get caught in stuff when I'm naked. Doors…" She put her teeth against his throat and his tone changed, turning a little breathy and thrilling her, "…it once got stuck in a turn stile at the subway…so that…was…pretty bad…"

She was licking across his collarbone now and his hands came up to cup her head.

She whispered, low and smooth, "Sounds pretty bad."

"It's pretty bad."

"I should help you with it."

"Yeah…you should. It's your fault. You should totally help me with it." It was wonderful, Jill thought, to hear that gruff voice go hoarse on a whisper. And to feel the power that came from knowing she was the cause of it.

She shifted on the vanity and slid her hand down to grip him. He made a sound and she moved toward him. His hands came down and slid up her thighs, he caught her hips. She rubbed him over her body and made them both laugh a little, thickly.

Jill shifted her body and grabbed his face, she arched, bucked her body down and took him inside of her in a smooth, hard stroke. They both made sounds of excitement with it. She whispered, harshly, "Better?"

"No. Worse. Fuck." He gripped her hips and lifted her around his front. She wrapped her legs around him and didn't wait, couldn't wait. She rode him standing, rising and falling, and using her strong thighs to kill them both. He nearly face planted trying to stay on his feet while she moved, gasping, groaning and slapping against him.

Holy hell, he thought desperately, she was a goddess. She was probably the sexiest woman that had ever, ever, ever lived. He gasped, "Wait…just…wait…" But she didn't wait. She laughed and she stole his soul while she fucked him standing.

He gave up and shoved her against the wall. She threw her arms up and grabbed the sconce on the wall to hold on. Chris adjusted her body, found the angle that made her scream, and drove into her hard enough to sound like a wet, meaty punch. He shoved her legs open and she held on, bucking and screaming. It didn't last long. How could it? It was utterly and completely wet and dirty. She came after three thrusts with the sharpness of the angle crushing against her cervix and firing in her blood like lava.

She sucked him in, held him while her body milked him, and he carried her still bucking body to the floor. She thrashed, desperate, and he rode her through her release. He drilled her into the floor twice more and that was it. He was done. He pushed her knees back to her ears and pumped himself into her body like he was exorcising a demon.

Jill laughed, laughed, even as she came around, wet and wondrous. They lay on the floor, panting. Sweaty, he lifted his head. "Witch. Are you a witch?"

"What do you think?"

Chris laughed and shrugged. "Don't give a shit. Cast your magic, woman. Just keep opening your legs so I can fuck you. I won't care."

"….that is so romantic, Redfield. Seriously."

He laughed and slid out of her. She shivered and he picked her up, jiggling her in his arms. She put her head on his shoulder as he took her to the shower.

He took her to dinner and charmed her. They spent a good deal of time doing little more than walking through fields. The weather was less than predictable. One day was sunny and cool, the next it started raining and didn't stop for three days. They didn't care. They went out in the rain and laughed.

There was standing stones and castles and tiny little villages filled with food that was fried and fabulous. His mother had come from here. He had ties as far back as any she'd ever seen. They stopped off to see them. His aunt, his mother's twin, lived in a cottage in the village of Ballyshannon. She was Claire with more meat on her. A beautiful round face with Chris' eyes.

She laughed with delight. "I've never in me life thought I'd be seein the day you'd darken mah doorstep, Christopher. Your mother is a right mess wherever she is shamin ya for waitin so long, to be sure."

Chris, in a sweater that was oatmeal dark and waffle weave soft, hugged her close. Jill thought, this is what family looked like. This is what it meant to come home. How was he as close to home as he'd ever been here as he'd been in his cabin in the woods. Again, she felt the pull of having never really known him. Not really.

He turned his head toward her, "Molly Belclare, this is my wife, Jill."

My wife.

Oh.

There it was. It was out there now. My wife, he said. And Molly Belclare made a sound of excitement. She laughed, delighted, and wrapped her close. "Oh Jilly is it? Jilly. Aha. Oh Siobhan is dying with happiness somewhere. He'll never marry, she said, my son will never marry. She would love to know it wasn't true. Aye. She was a woman who wanted grandbabes, she was. And so she'll finally have some, it seems."

Jill looked at Chris in horror. Kids. They'd not discussed it. Kids…did he want kids? At their age? She was turning forty soon. He was forty three already. Kids? She felt the panic again in her stomach at the idea of it. It had been haunting her for months now.

His face was guileless and amused and soft. She didn't care about the kid issue now. He was so happy here. She glanced over as the cottage door opened and the person inside emerged.

And he was about to be happier yet.

"Did you think you could get married…MARRIED…and not invite me?!"

Chris turned, laughing. And there she was. His sister. His other piece. She was just there in a pink sweater with her arms crossed over her chest.

He was laughing still as he picked her up against his front. Claire snorted and relented, wrapping him close in her arms. Molly put her arm around Jill, already at ease with her. This is what family was, Jill mused, it was holding and happiness and laughter.

They had a ceili for the Redfields "coming home." The whole village came. It was a party filled with food, food, food and dancing. So much dancing. There was live music on little concertinas and fat lutes and so many children. Children everywhere dancing and playing. There were stories. So many stories about Siobahn about Jack Redfield, the indian yank she'd married, and their children.

An old man was telling the tale of a curious boy who'd found himself in the ring o' the fairies as a wee lad. Do you know, he told her, that Chris Redfield was always a boy with more curiosity than smarts? Had naught but mischievous thoughts in his head, he did. Always gettin into trouble from the moment he could take a waddling step.

The beauty of the people, of the land, of the simplicity that existed wasn't lost on her. How much history was there inside of him? She wondered as she watched him laugh and sit on the ground surrounded by children who wanted to look at his tattoos and hear about all the "monsters" he'd defeated. How many facets of things had been left unexplored while he'd been fighting for the fate of the world?

She danced. She kept on dancing. She danced in the little green dress and shawl she was wearing. There were cousins and wives and babies and cousins again. The neighbors from the next farm over brought a cow. A cow. There was a cow at the ceili.

Jill could do nothing but laugh. And she only thought of Leon Kennedy once. When she met a cousin with the same name. And she thought of the lonely man who'd have been so happy…with a party filled with family.

It didn't hurt now to think of him. It was a soft ache in her belly that was easier, every day, to think of with just a little regret. She knew he was good. Claire said he was so happy. He had his purpose. He was happy there with it. He didn't take missions. He didn't do anything but work his ranch and raise his daughter. He was good.

She was glad for it.

The singing was beautiful at the ceili. Sad songs, happy songs, haunting songs. She felt her soul lift and find its peace amongst all the music. The music rolled inside of her and thrilled her.

She glanced over as Claire put her arm around her shoulders. They leaned together and touched temples. Jill said, "There's no chance for you and him?"

Surprised, Claire laughed a little, "No. He's not for me. See that guy over there?"

And it was Steve Burnside, looking rather frightened by the small children trying to sit in his lap. He kept glancing at Claire with rather desperate eyes. She gave him a thumbs up as a toddler plopped in his lap and kissed him. "That's what I've been looking for all my life. Leon…I've always loved him. Always. He's…not something you can hold on to. Maybe ever. Most likely? He'll raise that little girl and never settle down with someone. It used to make me sad. It took me a long time to realize that some of us aren't meant to find someone to share forever with. He's happy. And I haven't seen him happy in a long time. Faith? She's his forever."

Steve was looking at the little girl in his lap now like she was the best thing he'd ever seen. Claire smiled, full of love for him, "I think he might be mine."

"I think you're right about that."

Claire glanced at her face, "Where's yours, Jilly Bean?"

The song being sang was haunting and very beautiful. It was about a man who went to war and died for his country. It was a song of love and devotion and life. It had everyone stopping to listen and yearn for things that had no name.

The bonfire that was burning flickered bright and fast. She kissed Claire, smooth and clear. She kissed her right on the mouth. Claire winked at her. Steve looked really excited by it which made them both laugh.

Jill said, "I think we both know the answer to that."

She watched him across the firelight. He had a kid on each hip as he bounced them, making them giggle and wiggle. He was talking with his aunt. He must have felt her looking, must have, because he turned his head and held her gaze.

Whatever he saw there had him handing the squirming laughing kids off to various people. He moved, she moved. He took a blanket from the back of a chair. They crossed across the damp and tender spring grass. They caught hands and held and found themselves in the standing stones over the hill and down the valley.

It was a cool night, damp and eager for the dawning change of seasons. She turned to face him in the spill of moonlight. She lifted her hands to his face. She said, "Did you bring me here to show me this?"

"What's this?"

"This…life. This love. Did you bring me here to show me all the love here?"

"Maybe. I brought you here to show you what I can offer you. I can't be Leon Kennedy for you, Jill. But I can be me. And I can give you this. I can give you the family you've always wanted. And take away the emptiness of that little girl whose daddy didn't love her enough."

Jill studied his face in the moonlight. "I don't want you to be, Leon Kennedy. I've never wanted that. I want you to be the little boy in the ring o' fairies. I want you to be the guy who came across the world to bring me back. And the best friend I've ever had."

"I'm all those things."

"You are. And more. I can't think of anywhere else in the world I'd rather be, Chris, than right here with you. Right now."

They came together in the swirl of history and hope. The veil of what had happened here shivered around them. The legend said the witch and her warrior had met here to love before he'd gone off to battle. It said she'd died there waiting for him to return and that he'd died on the battlefield in the same moment she had.

A witch, Chris had called her, was she? It would seem she was in this moment and he was her warrior. And she would die there, in that circle, if he left her. He kissed her and she wrapped him close against her.

How could he think she'd want him to be anything else but what he was? He was no Leon Kennedy. He didn't run. He didn't flee when she got too close. He married her. He married the girl in love with the other boy. And he didn't push. He just..loved her. And offered her everything.

He laid the blanket out and they laid down together on it. He told her about the witch and the warrior. He told her about the legend of the land and the fairies. He told her about playing there as a child and the time he saw a ghost. He was adamant about it. He'd seen it. He'd spoken to the ghost. He told her about peat fires and the first time he'd seen her.

"My mother was always talking about fairies. My father was all about fate. Right? Fate. I thought he was just blowing smoke up my ass for most of my life. And then? Well then I found my way into that fucking station. And there you were."

Jill was lying on her back. He was leaning on his elbow beside her. She rubbed his chest under his sweater. He turned her his down to look at her. "And there you were. And I thought you were probably the coolest chic I'd ever met."

She smiled now, listening to him. The sound of his voice had always been perfect. The low, dulcet sounds of it. He couldn't sing to save his life but his voice was still music to her. "And you said…don't tell me you love me, Chris Redfield. And I didn't. I didn't say it. But I always did. And I thought…maybe that's fate right? Fate doesn't guarantee you get the girl. It just…guides you. What you do when you get there? That's on you."

It was poetry and a novel of words from a man who was not known for it. She turned his face down to her. "Are you calling me your fate, Chris Redfield?"

"In my father's tongue it was maya owicha paka…which kinda means fate. But kinda means something else too. There's no literal translation for it, honestly. I'm probably butchering the fuck out of the language too by the way. Just saying." He was scooping her hair back from her face while he looked at her.

She queried, quietly, "What about the irish word for it?"

And he said, softly, "Cinniúint." And she was pretty sure he wasn't butchering that one at all. It rolled into her belly and made her warm and soft there.

"That's a good word."

"It has it's uses." He was looking at her mouth now and she shifted to pull him down to her.

It was different again, this kiss. It was soft and silky. It thrilled even as it soothed and even as it excited. He drew back to look at her again and he laughed, quietly, "Jill…shit…how are you here with me?"

She touched his mouth. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I can't even make sense out of it." He lifted her hand to look at their little tattooed celtic knotwork bands around their fingers, "Why are you here? You could have gone back and had him. You could have done that. But you didn't. You let him go…why?"

She slid their fingers together. She watched his face. She said, "I could see my life with him like an outline over him as he walked away. I could see it. And I knew I could probably find my way to it if I just went inside with him."

"Yeah." He skimmed his thumb over her forehead. She traced his eyebrows with her fingers. "So why not go?"

"Don't you know the answer to that?" She held his look now. And he didn't. He didn't know the answer. She said, "What's the celtic word for love?"

Chris laughed now, gently. "I actually have no clue."

"I know it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah I do." Jill affirmed.

"What is it?"

And she smiled at him now and cupped his face, "Don't you know? It's Chris."

Oh. Oh, it thrilled her to see that arrow home. What a big squish, she thought with a yearning starting in her belly that was beautiful and raw, she watched it land and kill him. She watched his eyes get misty and felt hers do the same.

And they both laughed a little.

He said, gruffly, "That's pretty fucking sappy, Valentine."

"It is. Don't tell anyone. They'll laugh at me."

"Fuck it. Let them laugh. Probably just jealous anyway."

"They are. How could they not be? This guy right here?" She gestured to herself, "This guy got the girl."

Chris snorted a little now. "Am I the girl?"

"In this particular moment, it would appear so."

"I feel a little like a girl at the moment."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Because I kinda think I have to let you make love to me now. Which is utterly and completely girly. Be gentle. It's my first time."

Jill laughed and pulled him down to her to hold. "You big squish. I'm on to you."

Against her neck, he said in a muffled tone, "I would like you to be on me."

Laughing, she rolled him beneath her. It was smooth and gentle now. She took his sweater and he slid her panties off her beneath her dress. It was all hands and mouths and moving gently with each other. She straddled him and they curled around each other. Each taste and touch was backed by years and years of friendship and laughter and ripe with a newness that was heady and rich.

He sat up with her in his lap. She held his face, he took hers and scooped her hair out of her face. She said, quietly, while she sheathed him inside of her, "I could stay here, like this with you, for the rest of my life." She watched the thrill of that completion spill over his face. They touched foreheads and shivered together.

He kissed her and stole another piece of her. And he answered, "Jill…god. I love you…but eventually my ass will fall asleep. Which may work out in your favor as I won't know to quit thrusting."

And now she laughed, laughed, and held on while he shifted her and touched her. She came apart in his arms, gasping and laughing. He watched her, face thrown back, body arched as she came above him. And he knew, he knew like he'd always known, that this was where his life ended for him. Here. Inside of her. It was the only place in the world he'd ever really be complete.

He was going to love Leon Kennedy out of her. He was going to burn him out of her and watch her come back to him. He was going to keep on holding on to her while she found her way back to herself through him.

She awoke in the early hours before dawn to find him lying there beside her and curled around her beneath the blanket that he'd wrapped them in like a cocoon. She studied his face in the early dawn. Her hand traced the tattoo on his chest of his parents. This was a man who loved so deeply, so completely, that he tattooed the things that mattered most to him on his body. Claire, on his wrist. His parents, on his heart. And her, her on his neck, on his back and on his finger. Her.

There was no Leon Kennedy here in this moment. And there was no Leon Kennedy on her. She glanced down at the little band around her finger. She had his badge and hers on her back. He was all over her. There was no part of her that could exist without him. And she understood, finally, why Leon had run away from her. It wasn't because of her. It was because of this. This. And what it was that laid bare and endless between them. It was a lifetime of love and laughter and long nights spent playing Battleship and listening to him yelling at World's of Warcraft. It was picnics in Central Park and hotdog eating competitions that he lost. It was trips to Ireland and ceilis filled with all of his family. And?

It was babies. It was babies with him. There were babies all over him.

And there was one in her belly.

What had Molly said at the ceili? She'd pulled her aside and said, "Does he know?"

Jill had met her eyes and held them. They stood for a long moment. Molly said, "A woman can tell, Jilly. Always. How long have you known?"

Jill said, softly, "A few months now."

"Ah. It's never been the right time to tell him?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you think he'll say?"

It was hard to know. He'd never said anything about children. He was so full of love and devotion. But the fight was his child. The BSAA was his big ugly baby. What would he say when she told him?

She just didn't know.

"We haven't been married long. I don't know what he'll say."

"You've been friends all your lives?"

"It seems that way."

"Look at him. Really look at him. And you'll have your answer."

And there he'd been. With those children dangling off him like monkeys. He had one on each arm as he lifted them, using them to work out. They were laughing and giggling and thrilled. And Chris? Was finding a way to entertain and still condition his body.

That was her guy. All over.

She shifted and found him looking at her.

The coming dawn haloed his hair. It set fire to his face and burned the blue of his eyes to a shimmery silver. He rubbed his nose to hers and she smiled but she was teary with it. Concerned, he touched her face. "Tell me."

"I don't know how."

"Kennedy?"

She lifted her eyes to his face. "There's no Leon Kennedy here. Not now."

"So tell me."

Jill said, quietly, "How long were you planning to take off work?"

Curious, he shifted on the hard ground a little more toward her. She settled into the curve his body and she stroked the soft curve of her naked bottom beneath the blanket. "I don't know. I hadn't thought about it honestly. Why? You missing the fight?"

"Not exactly." She sighed a little. "It's my birthday."

He blinked, thinking about the date. And he felt like a complete fucking asshole because she was right. It was her god damn birthday and he was officially the worst husband on earth. Husband. Shit. It still sounded foreign to his ears.

And what was more interesting? He hadn't thought about the fight. He hadn't thought about BOWS or weird creepy shit cropping up in Louisiana that needed him. He hadn't thought about anything but her. And what it felt like to have her, anytime, all the time. And to be able to do things like roll over and fill her full of him.

He did so now. He shifted and rolled on top of her. She gasped and the blanket slid off them. She shifted and he lifted her leg and pushed his way into her body. She was snug and warm and he had to work for it which…fucking thrilled them both. The cold air shivered over their naked bodies as he they moved together, smooth and gasping.

He watched it peak on her nipples and spill goosebumps down her body. Bracketing his arms beside her head, Chris watched her body, watched her face, as he slid in and out of her. She opened her legs wider to receive him and wrapped her hands over his biceps.

Lord. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of watching her face while she went up. Just watching her find her peak and go, shaking and gasping and sucking him in, it sent him with her. He came inside of her while she came around his rolling body. He groaned with it, feeling her body welcome the sticky spill of him.

And he was crazy for her. He wanted to say dumb shit about flowers and light and banishing his darkness or something like that but he just didn't have that kind of stuff in him to say. But he had this. So, he gave her the words he couldn't usually find with a flash light, a map, and a GPS tracker. "I kinda think it's my birthday actually Jill. Because you're the only god damn gift I've ever wanted."

She opened her eyes…and started crying.

He froze, horrified. That was EXACTLY why he didn't say the shit he was thinking. No good ever came from mushy shit. Ever. He professed love and girls cried. Yep. That was his fucking luck.

Chris shifted a little to move off her and she looped her legs over his to hold him there. She gasped, shaking her head. She hiccupped, adorably, and he loved her so much it was insane.

She said, "I have another one for you. I'm sorry. But I sure do. I bet I can spook you too. I bet I can make you run like Leon Kennedy."

Chris grabbed her face, holding it. "If you exploded right now and turned into Wesker, you couldn't make me run from you."

He thought about that for a minute.

"Okay. So maybe that would work. Maybe I'd run then. But I would definitely run away shouting like a man and not screaming like a girl…which would be Kennedy."

Jill laughed, wetly. She said, quietly, "Remember…remember the first zombie we found in the Spencer Mansion?"

And he did. He remembered it. And the moment they'd come upon it. It was eating the sad remains of their fallen comrade. It had risen and come at them slowly, stupidly, and scared the living piss out of them both.

Chris snorted, remembering how scared they'd been and how young. God. How long had it been now? Almost twenty years. He said, laughing, "I'll never forget it. It was disgusting. And the scariest thing I'd ever fucking seen."

Jill laughed and skimmed her hands down his sides. "The problem with that? We never stopped being scared. It's twenty years of being afraid."

Her hands found the curve of muscle in his back and the wonderful shift of it over his fantastic ass. He bobbled is brows at her as she touched him and made her laugh. "It's a nice ass." He commented and she laughed, slapping him.

"It is. Objectively."

"Spill the beans, Valentine. What's making you all onion eyed? Is it the birthday thing? It's clear I'm a complete idiot about shit like that. But I'll buy you an island and name it after you to make up for it."

And now she laughed again. "What happens on Valentine Island?"

His face was adorable as he considered the question carefully. "Probably?"

"Sure."

"Probably fucking. Definitely a lot of fucking."

And she was laughing now. "Indubitably."

"Also, potentially Twister and freeze tag."

"Oh yeah?"

"And blowjobs happen there all the time. Like eight times a day."

"Eight?" He dropped his mouth to kiss her neck. The cool dawn breeze had her shivering. He shifted and threw the cover over them. She cuddled his big body against her.

"Eight. Or ten. Ten on Sundays."

Jill shifted her face so he could kiss her. She laughed as he drew away. "Interesting island, you old lecher. I don't think I'd invite you to my island."

"Whoa whoa. I bought you the island, kid. I can't come there?"

"Nope. No coming for you on Valentine Island. I can't be chasing you around stopping blowjobs all day."

"You misunderstand. You're giving the blowjobs. So you'll already be there."

Laughing so hard it was nearly ridiculous, Jill wrapped her arms around him. He blew a raspberry on her neck and rolled to his side to hold on to her. "So this island you're buying me…it's really for you?"

"Well yeah. Totally fucking self-serving. But I get points for thoughtfulness or something right?"

Jill watched his face now. Carefully. "I want you to take over command."

It was so out of the blue that he blinked at her. She shifted, skimming her thumbs over his cheeks. He held that look. "You want me to what?"

"I want you to step down from missions…permanently."

And she watched the struggle on him now. He was a warrior. He was her warrior. He didn't know how to retire any more than Leon Kennedy did. She could only imagine what he was doing in Montana without blood and bullets and bad guys running around.

Chris said, "I'm a field guy, Jilly Bean. I don't know how to ride a desk."

"I know that. I do. But I can't do this any other way."

"What? Love me?"

"No. That? That I'm doing anyway. I always have. But it's not just about me anymore. Or you I'm afraid."

He lifted a brow, watching her. "Why not? You talking about Kennedy?"

"No. Idiot. He's not here is he?"

Chris glanced around, narrowing his eyes. "He could be. That sneaky little shit. He's like a fucking ghost. Poof! Just pops up."

"Be serious. You big goof. Be serious for a minute and look at me."

Laughing, Chris looked at her. "I don't know if I can be a desk guy, Jill. That's asking a lot of me. I'm all point and shoot and punch. You know that."

"I do know that. I also know that if you die now..." Oh…that statement ended on a small sob and surprised them both. She lifted her hand to her mouth and tried again, "I'm sorry. Apparently I can't stand the thought of it."

Touched, he kissed her palm. "I'm not dying, Jilly Bean. Many have tried. The only one who came close is lying right here so…"

"Chris…the day I went down into the darkness with Wesker. I did that…I did that because I couldn't even stand the thought of what life looked like without you in it."

He held her eyes now as the light spilled red and pink over them both. And the sun burst like a promise on the horizon. "It's scary in the dark, Jill. When you were gone…I was gone too. I'm not going to die on you."

"You can't know that. You can't. Look…look at Leon. Look at Rebecca. I killed her. I killed Rebecca." And there it was. There was truth. And it came out in a small sob. "I loved him. I loved him and they took you from me. And they killed Rebecca. They punished me for loving him."

And that was it, Chris thought, that was why she didn't go back into that house with him. She had been atoning for misplaced guilt. He said, quietly, "You didn't kill her, Jill. You can't kill someone by loving someone else too much. That's just stupid."

Her guy, she thought with a wet laugh, all the delicacy of a punch in the face. But he got the point across. And he didn't let her dwell.

"I should have come for you sooner. But I had to help him back. I had cost him so much. I had to help him back."

Chris took her face and held it now, hard. "You did the right thing there. Always. Don't you fucking think, for a minute, that you didn't. I was there to protect that fucking baby because of it. You fixed him and I protected his kid. Leon Kennedy? He got everything he's going to get from you and I now. He's done here. And I'm done watching you hurt for him. Stop loving him. Now."

And she laughed now, again, soft and shivering. "This isn't about loving him. It's about loving you, you big idiot. I love men and they…lose. They just lose. I don't think I can handle it if I love you and you die. I won't survive it."

"Jilly Bean," He gathered her close now and held on. He was so fucking good at holding on to her. "Jilly Bean…you want me to become a fat, stupid desk jockey because you think loving me will get me killed?"

"Yes."

"That's dumber than Leon Kennedy's haircut, kid."

She laughed and he kissed her, smooth and soft. And she said, "But that's not it. It's not all of it. I can't have you out there blowing shit up and trying to get killed anymore."

He shifted now, uncomfortable. And here was the hardest part for him. Because he'd given the fight his life and now she was in it. She was in his life.

Be fair, his brain said, she IS your life. And she was. Would be. And had always been. But she was adjacent to that life that had the bullets and the fight. How did he choose one over the other?

And again, his brain said, really? Is there a choice here? The fight nearly lost you her in the first place. Put down the fucking sword and pick up your wife.

Chris answered now, quietly, "I'll step down from missions."

She leaned back to look at him. Her eyes were wide. "What?"

"I'll do it. I'll stop taking the missions. I'll assume a command position and retire from the field."

Jill made a little sound, watching his face.

"But that means you do it too."

"Happily."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. The fight nearly cost me everything Chris. It nearly cost me, you. It cost me Leon. It cost us Rebecca. We're gonna find Wesker and put him down. That's how it ends. After that? No more for me. I'm ready to let it go. Are you?"

A hard question. An impossible one. Because before Leon Kennedy had fucked up his world, he'd have said the fight would go on forever with Jill beside him. But now they were here and things had shifted and he had her. He finally had her. And it meant he'd already won the only fucking fight that mattered anyway.

And he said, "I don't know, honestly. But I'll do it for you."

And maybe that meant more than anything.

Jill said, "Not just me."

"For whom then? Claire? She's been trying to get me to retire for years."

Jill took his hand and kissed the palm. She held his eyes now and said, "For me…and us." And she put his hand on her belly.

He blinked and rubbed her. She was so beautiful in the dawning light. Her hair was soft and sticking up, sure, but it worked on her fa—

He stopped. Because she just kept holding his hand on her belly. And she saw it, she saw the moment it registered. Slow, her guy, but usually got there eventually. And there it was. There was the panic of it. And the same face she'd seen the moment they'd watch that zombie rise twenty years ago.

He said, with horror, "Are you trying to tell me you have a parasite in your belly?"

Jill laughed. She laughed and let go of his hand. He kept it there, rubbing at her a little. "I'm saying there's a parasite in there. Yeah. It's yours. You infected me."

What a face, she mused, loving him a lot. What a fucking face he was making. Like she'd just kicked a puppy or farted on the Pope or something. What a face.

"What in the living fuck am I supposed to do with a baby?" And he sounded so horrified by the idea of it. "They poop and pee all over the place, Jill. And they smell…a lot."

"I heard that somewhere actually."

"And you know what else? They grow up."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yeah. They grow up and become people. And those people? They have other people. It's a fucking cycle."

"Oh yeah?"

"You bet. Holy hell." He rolled onto his back and put his face in his hands. He scrubbed at his face and laughed. "I'm forty-three fucking years old, Jill. How did you manage to be the first woman on earth to get me to plant a baby in your belly?"

Jill laughed a little, leaning on her elbow to look at him. "You sure I'm the first?"

"Seeing as you're the only fucking woman I've ever NOT worn a rubber with…I'd say the odds are pretty good there. Cock and shit and piss, Jill. What the fuck do I do with a baby?"

"You love it, you blithering idiot. You love it. And you will. You can't do anything but love. You're a big squish."

He rolled to face her, shaking his head. "Don't tell anyone. They'll fucking laugh at me."

"The joke is on them, Chris Redfield. You're all kinds of love. Tell me the truth here. What are you thinking?"

"Right this minute? I'm thinking about being sixty something years old when this damn kid graduates from high school."

Jill nodded a little and felt the tears well in her eyes. She rolled to sit up. "Ok. So we don't keep it then. We don't keep it. That's what I needed to know."

Shit. He shifted and sat up now. "Hold on now. Hold on. I didn't say that."

"It's really ok. I'm too old anyway. Right? Who has their first baby at forty? Stupid." She shifted to slide her dress on. "I didn't even want to have children anyway. Right? We used to laugh at everyone around us dropping like flies and plopping out babies. Stupid, in our line of work to make more people that could die. Stupid. Better to not have to worry about it."

He said nothing now, watching her.

And she just kept going, "Leon Kennedy is an idiot right? Who has a baby in this business? Just dumb. And I don't even like babies anyway. They stink. And they cry a lot. And they…take all your time and they…are like little ugly old Chinese men when they're born…I don't even like them at all…" And she put her face in her hands to cry.

Undone, he knelt and pulled her into him. What a fucking asshole you are, his mind said, why would you do that to her? You fucking like kids just fine. You dumb ass. Look what you did. So, maybe you didn't want to have any of your own…exactly. But what did your life look like up until a few months ago? Fighting, bleeding, blowing shit up and taking down the bad guys. Where was the time to consider babies?

But she didn't just cry. Nope. She sobbed. It was that broken, horrible, terrible grieving that raped across his soul and killed him. And he realized, in that moment, that Jill had always wanted to have children. She'd always wanted to be a mother. And she'd just…never said a word. She'd just figured, the girl with no family and no hope didn't deserve to have children. How could she raise one when she didn't even know how it felt to be loved?

And that broke his fucking heart.

He pulled her hands away from her face and buried his against her neck. He looped his arms around her and she curled against him. He said now, aching for her, "You want to have my baby, Jill Valentine?"

And she was shaking and sobbing so hard that it killed him. Well done, dip shit, his mind said, you just made her cry like Leon Kennedy. Kudos.

Her breath hitched and gasped as she sobbed, "I really do. I really want to have your ugly old Chinese man."

And it made him laugh. He laughed, feeling the tears spark in his eyes, "Well ok. I guess I can handle that. You can have my baby, I guess. I do love a big pair of boobs."

Jill laughed and cried and broke him into a thousand pieces with it.

She said, gasping, "I want you to love it. And be happy."

And now he caught her face and pulled her back to look at her. "Look at me, Jill. Right here. I will do nothing but love it. And you." He put his hand on her belly now. "Happy is all I ever am when I'm with you. I cannot fucking believe you want to have my ugly baby though. If it looks like me? It's fucked."

She kissed him, laughing and crying now. "He'd be beautiful, you big softie. And if he's a she and looks like you? Hopefully at least she'll be funny."

"HA!" He grabbed her and held on, laughing, "Holy shit. I'm gonna have to play Barbie dolls or something. What…the…fuck."

"I never had a Barbie doll."

He leaned back to look into her face. "What?"

"I never had a Barbie doll. Or any dolls. I had some paper dolls once I made out of a napkin at a diner. I gave it a face with ketchup. Not really the prettiest girl at the party but it worked."

Jesus what kind of life was that for a kid? She was so full of love. A fucking doll with ketchup for a face. His heart swelled and he rolled her to her back. He studied her flat belly, trying to picture it fat and full of a baby. Whoa. It was insane. He kissed it now and put his ear over it to see if he could hear it.

Don't be stupid, his brain said, you can't hear it. It's like…as big as a bean or something. And she held him while he laid there, trying to hear the thing they'd created growing inside of her. Whelp, his mind said, you wanted to get fucked.

You're fucked now.

He got the feeling his brain was probably laughing at him.


	4. Part 4

Author's note:

So this will be the end. I literally POURED it out of me and it was easily 150 pages of stuff. I couldn't do anything but write it out and get it done. The other works of mine were totally cock blocked until I did. Chris gets his absolution here. Everybody finds their path in this alternate ending.

Hopefully it relates as well as it came out of me. I laughed, I cried, I loved it.

This story remains, probably, the best thing I've ever written in terms of really gritty that was all original.

thanks for reading it~

slainte'

The Girl who was almost a sandwich: The Long and Winding Tale of Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, and the Boy Who Stood Between

ALTERNATE ENDING: AND ALL THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN….

"Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else."

― Sarah Cross, Kill Me Softly

:::::::::::::::::THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT Part 4::::::::::::::::::::::::

They went to Leon Kennedy's kids birthday party. Why? It seemed the right thing to do. Jill was, apparently, seven months pregnant now. She had a cute little belly that looked like a basketball.

At the doctor appointment, they'd asked if they wanted to know the sex. "Would you like to know the sex?"

And Chris, without missing a beat, had said, "I know the sex, clearly. It's how she got pregnant."

And Jill, drolly, quipped, "He knows the sex, he just don't know the condom."

Chris had laughed and kissed her. And the little nurse had laughed, delighted. But they hadn't wanted to know what the baby was. It…was a baby. It looked like a mutant parasite blob on the ultrasound. He saw the head and the weird stick arms. He rubbed her basketball belly while they spoke afterward. A simple gesture, Jill thought lying there, that he couldn't possibly understand meant so much.

He was afraid. Her big squishy guy. He was terrified of a tiny baby. He'd stood facing down armies of the undead and never blinked. And he was terrified of a baby. It was precious.

Chris rolled the truck up the drive and parked beside Claire's little Mazda. He glanced at Jill, beautiful and soft in a pink maternity dress. He wanted to say so many things. He didn't want to go out of this truck and have her see him again.

Shit. It wasn't like him to be a coward. But he was after all. Scared of babies and…Leon Kennedy. He was scared of Leon Kennedy. And that? That just pissed him the fuck off.

So, he got out of the truck. In a move that touched her, he opened her door without a word and helped her down. It wasn't like him. And it was. They were still learning each other. He'd softened, the hardest man she'd ever known, he'd softened after all these years. She could see he didn't think he'd be a good father written all over him. What a fool, she thought, he was nothing but softness and love.

Chris watched her face now and she smiled at him. "You ok? You look tired."

"…are you saying I look like shit?"

"I did NOT." He considered it and said, "But you are getting pretty fat. So that may change."

What a goof, she thought, and slapped his chest with her hand while she laughed. He tucked her under his arm and they walked toward the door. You could hear the party without any trouble. The place was popping with people.

Claire opened the door and had the baby. Jill stopped, looking at them. The baby. She was a year old now and beautiful. All that pretty blonde hair and big blue eyes. She had Rebecca's face and her daddy's eyes and smile. A beautiful child, no doubt about it.

Chris went up the porch to look at her. She studied him with a fist in her mouth. He tilted his head, looking at her. "It's cute. Objectively."

Claire slapped him. "SHE. And yes she is. She looks like Rebecca right? With Leon's hair. It's insane."

"Oh she's Rebecca. For sure." He looked at the kid, considering. And the little girl put her arms up to him. Chris said, "Yeah alright. Sure."

And he picked her up.

Well, Jill thought, that was it. She was done now. Was there anything in the world cuter than Chris Redfield with a gummy toothed toddler rubbing at his beard? Probably not.

Claire came down the porch toward her, grinning. She put her hand on Jill's belly and rubbed. "How's he handling it?"

"Like it will probably pop out a zombie and eat him."

Claire laughed now, loving it. "He's a coward."

"Never. He might panic. But he'll rise and fight on."

"Oh, yeah. He doesn't fail. He can't. He doesn't know how."

They moved up the porch. Chris was back in the bustling house with Barry and the baby now. Natalia, Barry's adopted daughter, was playing with Faith on the floor. Chris and Barry were talking, what else, viral warfare.

Chris had been as good as his word. He'd taken the helm beside their old friend. He was a desk jockey now. Although the tone of command suited him. He belonged in charge of men. And he was good at it. But she got the swirl of regret for the fight around him still.

Eventually, she'd probably relent on the fear and let him go back to the fight. But the idea of it now? It terrified her.

She spoke with Moira briefly, Barry's other daughter, about a quilt they were both working on that they'd seen on Pinterest. And with Mira and Quint about the ramifications of the final season Game of Thrones. It was good and casual and friendly.

And then? Well then there was Leon Kennedy.

And he was, as he'd always been, breathtaking. He was gorgeous and smooth and sensual and commanding. He was, in a word, perfect. And she could see, finally, why Chris and likely most other men hated him.

She caught his eye and he gestured with his head. Nodding, she followed him out the back door of the house. Chris watched her go and let her. So, that meant he was growing…maybe. Probably. Or not. Because he wanted to follow her, punch Leon Kennedy in the face, and kick him in the junk. He didn't. But he wanted to.

He figured that was progress.

On the back porch, watching the horses in the pasture, Leon said, laughing, "Look at you! You're fucking glowing. Which…I thought was a rumor about women and babies."

Jill smiled at him and was surprised to feel so at ease beside him. There was no bitterness here now. He looked so happy. Soft and content in a way she hadn't ever seen him. The broody boy with his darkness and his drinking wasn't here. He was dead it seemed and buried in Raccoon City where he belonged. Rebecca? It had always had to be her to bring him back.

The girl and the boy on the beach who'd loved each other? They were still there. The echoes of that love for him would always be around her. But it didn't hurt now. It was almost warm and gentle in her memory. She couldn't blame him for any of it anymore. It wasn't him. Not entirely. It was her and them and Chris and Faith. And this baby. I can't love you with him in the way, Leon had said in Paris. And he was right.

Because there could be no her without Chris. And she'd chosen him then. And she was choosing him now. And every day.

"Thank you," She grinned at him a little, "Fatherhood suits you. And ranching it seems. You look good, Leon."

And he did. He was beautiful and sexy and stole her breath looking at him. The dark blonde hair over that face. She'd probably always covet him, a little. It was the nature of loving something like him. Impossibly gorgeous, impossibly complicated, and impossible to hold on to. She doubted, honestly, he'd ever marry. There wasn't a woman alive that could equal him. And he'd never settle until he met one who did. He was ice and fire and fight and fuck and flee. He was broad strokes on a big canvas and brains and heart and hope. His self sacrifice was unparalleled. He protected even as he brought the world down in fire and blood. A good man, he'd need a woman that could hold on while he raged and rolled and looked for his truth. A complex creature, he'd need a steady hand to hold him. He was just…everything. And there wasn't a woman she'd ever met that could compete with that.

Well there was one. There was one. And she had his smile.

And there was no regret here. None. It surprised her to find she was happy. Unbelievably happy. And she didn't need him anymore.

"Thanks. I am. Most of the time, I really am." He leaned on the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. "He's slow and stupid."

"Never stupid. No. But slow, yes."

"He came here to threaten me."

"I know that."

"I can't blame him. I would have gotten you back otherwise."

Ah, yes. And there was that. Arrogant to a fault, was Leon Kennedy. Jill lifted her brow at him. "I think we'll agree to disagree there, Mr. Kennedy."

Leon laughed and shrugged, all good humor. "It was never easy with us, Jill. Maybe there's a reason for that."

"I would agree. Sometimes we have to travel a rough path to find our way."

"Without question," He studied her face, "I loved you. Tell me you don't know that."

It didn't hurt to hear it. Which surprised her again. She smiled, softly, "I know it. You never really said it. But I knew it."

"He says it?"

They held eyes now and she smiled. "All the time. Everyday."

"…fucker." But he laughed without rancor. He was just content and it showed around him like a mist. "I'm glad. I am. I can't say I was happy about it at first. I probably kicked the shit out of stuff for a while hating myself and you and him. You married him pretty quick."

"It seems that way. But not really. I've loved him forever. It was time to love him completely. He'd earned that."

"Oh, without a doubt. Did you marry him to punish me?"

It was a fair question. And made her think more of him to ask it. "No. You weren't anywhere on that beach that day. It was him and I. It was a girl and a boy on the beach. But no one ran away afterward."

Leon nodded, smiling at her. "You ran that day."

"I did. And that's my only real regret. But I can't regret where it led me, Leon. Or you. You have Faith. You have your purpose, finally. And me? Look at what I have."

She looked beautiful and simple and it made him raw to see it. This was it, he thought, where her path had lead her. He'd known it that day in the bar. He'd seen them laughing and touching and together and he should have gotten out of the way then and couldn't. Because he'd loved her. Always. And he loved her now. And it was ok. It wasn't painful. It was just love. And sometimes love just wasn't enough.

Leon shifted and put his hand out. She watched him and nodded. He touched her belly. And the wonder on his face was a little painful for her. And that was ok too. The baby kicked his hand and he laughed…a little wetly. Oh, she thought, touched. Such love in him.

He said, "Crazy. How does it feel? Is it like rushing and coming at the same time or what?"

Ah, Leon Kennedy. He wasn't Chris. Words he had. And plenty of them. Jill grinned, thrilled with it. "It's like nothing you've ever known. That day you came to save me. And you were covered in blood and using that chainsaw, I saw your face. And you were ALIVE. You were so alive and flying."

"Adrenaline." There was that intelligence on his face that she loved. He just got. This guy. He just got it.

"Yeah. It's like that. But it never stops."

And the baby kicked his hand again. His face…it would haunt her forever. His face was so amazed. Such a soft man inside. He deserved to be happy and have lots of children. Find your happy, Leon, she thought, and hold on to it.

He said, "He's a lucky bastard."

And she laughed now, "That's what I tell him too."

She shifted, watching him. And he said, touching her belly while that baby kicked him, "Jill…look at you. Jesus Christ, you look good."

"I do," She affirmed and made him laugh. "It's my curse on the world."

"Helluva curse. Fuck it. I'm just gonna do this and…that's what's happening now…so…" And he shifted and pulled her in. She went into the circle of his arms and held him close. It was a good hug. It was soft and unassuming and good.

And the slippery little shit? He gave her his music while he held her. Oh, so quietly. And tried to kill her.

Oh, losin' you is tearin' me apart…But a part of me will be with you…No matter where you are…I wish you strength when times are hard…Oh, I wish with all my heart…You find just what you're lookin' for…I wish you joy, I wish you peace…And that every star you see is within your reach…And I wish you still loved me…

He was good, damn him. It touched her in places that made her laugh a little, wetly. She leaned back to hold his face. "That's cheating, Mr. Kennedy."

And his eyes were teary which was good somehow too. Good. It meant only that the love they'd had was very real and very raw and very good to have known. That part was true. It was good to have loved him. And to love him still in a way that didn't hurt anymore.

"It probably is," He remarked and they both aware they were still holding on, "I'm a sore fucking loser, it seems"

"Not a loser, Leon. Look inside. Look inside and see what you've won. You got the girl, Mr. Kennedy. She's right in there."

"She is," And Jill caught the tear that slid down his face on her thumb and swept it away, "She is indeed. But she's here too. I'm gonna miss you, Jill. Probably every fucking day forever."

"Oh, Leon," She laughed a little, warm inside in ways that had no name, "You won't. Eventually? You'll just be happy."

"Are you? Happy?"

"I am. There is no part of me that can exist without him. It's a good thing. I promise."

"Jill…damnit." He leaned down and she let him. She let him kiss her. She wanted to see. She wanted to see what was left here. It was good. It really was. Soft and sweet and final. It was a good kiss. She'd taught him how to do it. And there was just that little edge of what might have been. She could see it still, her life with him. Like a soft veil over him. She'd have gone in that door and loved him. And he'd have loved her too. It would have been good. And it was good now.

And she was happy without him. Which made it ok. It was just ok. And he'd be ok too. He pressed his forehead to hers and they both laughed, a little teary for it.

He leaned back and said, staring into her face, "Gonna beat the shit out of me, big guy?"

And she knew Chris was standing there behind her. It was an interesting feeling.

"Seems like a dick move at your kids birthday party. But I'm considering it."

Leon kept on looking at her. She smiled and stepped back from him. He let her go, sighing a little. And he just kept right on looking at her. She felt the shimmer of it. Oh, she thought with a little edge of triumph, he wanted to pull her back and hold on. That's how you got Leon Kennedy to chase you. You stopped chasing him first.

Leon said, still watching her. A bit like a man starving seeing food. It was a good feeling for her. He said, "I hate you, Redfield. Just so we're clear."

"Can't blame ya," Chris said softly, looking between them. And she didn't like the look on his face. She didn't know how to tell them it was misplaced now either. "I hate you too. You thinkin you still want my girl, Kennedy? You see she's fat with my kid right?"

"Don't see fat. I see she's beautiful with it. And I think I'd still want her fat with twenty of your kids. But don't feed me my stomach. That girl? She's all yours. You kick the bucket though? I'm coming to get her and your twenty kids with her."

Jill studied his face and saw he meant it. He'd take her and twenty of her kids with her. Oh, Leon, she thought, you're too late for that now. But it warmed her to feel that kind of love from him. Too late, but still humbling.

"Fair enough, you floppy haired girl. This fucking house is big enough for my twenty kids to live in. But you'd make them all wear fancy shirts and take fancy shits and wear stupid hair cuts. So it's best they stay with me."

Leon laughed good naturedly. "Imagine what your house will be full of. World's of WartAss and rampaging flatulence. It'll smell like nachos and fart at the Redfield house I'm sure."

"Better than smelling like perfume and aromatherapy candles, you fucking girl."

"You might be happier if you harnessed your chi, big guy. Less uptight."

"Your harness your chi all you want, Kennedy. Just don't tell me about it."

Leon laughed again.

"I like you, Leon. You're a good man in a fight. You're a fucking princess about emotional shit, so that sucks for you. But here's the thing…" Chris stepped him and Jill felt the tension. Oh. She moved a little between them. He glanced down at her.

She held that look.

Chris said, quietly, "You got between him and I once before, Jill. It was the wrong answer then. It's the wrong one now. Step aside. I'm not going to lay him flat."

And Leon Kennedy, damn his eyes, said, "You could give it a shot, old man. And see what happens."

Jill answered, "For god's sake, Leon, stop making this harder than it needs to be."

Chris said, again, "Step aside, Jill. Now."

Too much like a command. But she did it. She didn't like it. But she did it. Chris crossed toward the other man. And he spoke, low and smooth, "Here's the thing, Kennedy. You've been chasing what's mine for what? Fifteen years?"

"Feels like forever." They faced each other on the porch and scared Jill to death with it. Neither backed down.

Chris replied, "Yeah. Too long. You're done here. With her? You're done. She's mine. I should have kicked your ass then and picked her up, carried her off, and loved until she was mine. That's on me. I was an idiot. And I wanted her happy. You had your chance. You fucked it up and hurt her. So, I'm thinking you're done. You should fucking die when you lose her. No lie. I nearly did. But she's mine now. And you don't get to take your shot anymore. Say goodbye and let her go. Or I will finish kicking your ass like I should have done years ago. And you can flip and mosquito buzz around all you want. I'll still kick your ass. And I'll still go home with her. My WIFE, you fucking idiot."

Leon, a couple inches shorter, always the lither man of the two, still managed to not look smaller. And he didn't throw a punch. Not even close. He had his hands tucked into his back pockets while he considered the other man.

Nervous, Jill watched the tension string out long and thick. And finally? Leon said, "Fuck."

Chris nodded and laughed a little. "Yeah. The word of the day."

"God damnit, Redfield. I want to punch you in your smug face and take your girl."

"Can't blame you. She's worth it."

"Always was." Leon rolled his neck, "Shit. This is like eating razor blades and letting them carve me up while they go down. I hate the living the hell out of you."

But they both laughed.

"Can't blame you with that either. And I can fucking see how much you love her. It's all over you like a misplaced fart, dude. I get it. And that you'd take her pregnant with twenty of my kids? That makes you a stand up fucking guy. I respect you. But you fucked it up. It's done. It's time to make sure we can all still be friends. That's all on you."

Leon rolled his head and looked at her. Oh, she couldn't help it, she couldn't, it thrilled her to see him consider it. To consider fighting for her. It was too late for that. But it was thrilling to see it. Where was it a few months before? It was too late now. She thought, for a brief moment, he was going to come running at her, pick her up, and try to run away with her.

And the image made her giggle. She just…giggled.

Leon froze. Chris froze. She froze.

Leon said, "Did you just…"

Jill said, "I did not. I didn't. Don't even say it."

Leon chuckled and put his hand out. Chris shook it, hard, And they one armed hugged each other like men were known to do. He said, "Your woman just giggled, Redfield, and broke the tension like she'd thrown a fucking whoopie cushion in between us. I'll lay off. And I'll stay off. I hate it like fucking hell. But I'll do it."

"Good man. Not as dumb as you once were so there's still hope for you."

"I have my moments. Can't promise I won't love her forever."

"You should. Without a doubt. She's worth that."

"And more."

Jill laughed a little and shook her head at them. Like men, they let go of the tension that was boiling there. At least Leon did. She wasn't sure with her guy. He was always so stoic when he wanted to be.

In the truck, on the way home, they were both quiet. Jill was looking out the window and watching the world roll by. Chris drove, saying nothing.

Finally, he reached over and sat his hand on her belly. That was it. It was just a simple gesture. So very simple. And it moved her in ways that no words ever could.

She covered his hand with hers and said nothing.

After a long moment, he said, "You miss him."

Not a question. Just a statement. And she considered it as he drove. He didn't look at her. Which hurt her. But he kept his hand on her belly.

"No." And now he glanced at her. "I don't. I never thought that once today. I don't miss him. He's complex and he's beautiful and raw. And I loved him. Very much."

"Yeah." He was so gruff about it. She hated hurting him. But it needed said.

"I don't miss him. I don't miss him at all."

He said nothing.

Jill waited until he'd pulled up the motel and parked. She studied it. It was where he'd touched her again for the first time. And it was likely where the baby in her belly had been conceived. She rolled in her seat.

"Look at me."

He did and he was so closed off. Hiding. She didn't want him to start hiding again. It had been a long road to get him to open up completely to her. She said, "He's not here, Chris. And I haven't sat around pining for him. We let each other go. It's that simple. He's still thinking of me with rose colored glasses. That's ok. He's content and looking for someone to share it with him. He's happy. I'm happy. The only person not happy? You."

Chris shifted and sighed. "If I died tomorrow, would you go back to him?"

What a question. Surprised by it, she watched his face. It was a good question. And she hated that he felt it needed asked. "You planning to drop dead on me?"

"No. But you never know. Look at Rebecca. She died. And Kennedy? He's alone now. So…that's how fast something like that can happen. I figure, if I drop dead, at least he'll love you and take care of you. He's a good man. He's clearly a good father. He fucking loves you so much it hurts me to see it. He'd fuck you stupid and fill your belly with all those babies we joke about. Me? I'd just be dead. So…"

He was so sad. Why? What had he been feeling in that house today? Did he think she was outside with Leon Kennedy wishing they were together? She couldn't blame him, it had been her modus operandi for a long time. She'd loved him for so long. How did she prove herself here?

She said, "If you died tomorrow, I would go to your grave everyday, three times a day, until the day I joined you there. Part of me would probably have already died with you anyway. So I would just be waiting for the rest of me to go."

Surprised, he turned to look at her. Finally. She took his hand and held it on her belly. "Oh, yeah. I won't change my mind here, Chris. Just…"

And in the cab of his truck, in the front of the motel where he'd helped her back from the edge, she finally gave him her music. And not Leon Kennedy.

You need someone who knows you from the inside out…the way I do…I've seen you walk the wire never looking down….I believe in you…I will be by your side…if ever you fall…deep in the dead of the night…whenever you call..and I won't change my mind …no I'll see it through…and I won't give…no I won't give up…I won't give up…on you…

The tears in his eyes killed her. She hated hurting him. She just wanted to take it all back and make it right. She said, "Stop being jealous of him. Please. He's gone. And there is only you in me. Only you." The baby kicked their joined hands, "Only us. Stop trying to push me back to him. I'm not fucking going anywhere. Just love me, Chris. Is it that hard? Just love me."

He grabbed her face to pull her to him and kiss her. And there was no room there for Leon Kennedy anymore. For just that moment, there was only them. And he was desperately afraid he would never be enough to keep her.

...

They settled in Ireland, which surprised them both. But the UN Headquarters for the BSAA was a short plane ride away and they'd never been happier than they were there anyway. He bought the land adjacent to his aunt Molly and it had a beautiful old farm house for him to renovate.

He surprised her again. He was a master renovator. All those years of watching HGTV and learning his shit. He was a sledgehammer wielding and a blueprint reading and a hard hat wearing wizard. He gutted it and restored it in a way that made her love him. He saw the beauty in the simple, the elegant and the history. He was as at home in this old farmhouse as he'd been in that stainless steel kitchen.

And he was a man with long ties to the ancestors that rolled in his blood like music. She watched him from the window, too pregnant now to do anything to help. He was out there with Claire and Steve and making a crib from scratch. Such a simple man really and so full of pockets of depth and emotion.

It was…an odd looking crib, admittedly, she wasn't sure where he was going with it. But she loved watching him out there, shirtless, building something for them together. The shaggy hair reminded her of what it had looked like when he'd come for her in Africa.

She'd let go of her own again and she was blonde once more. It was natural now and she couldn't hold on to the color without trying. He'd surprised her one night by helping her braid her hair down her back when it had gotten in the way. He was a man with a hundred levels of surprise.

She said, "You braid hair?"

And he'd looked a little sheepish. But he'd said, "I used to braid Claire's hair all the time after my parents passed."

And there it was, another reason she loved him so much. The boy who'd raised the sister that had lost their parents too young. He was such a big man filled with so much raw love. It was all hers now and she adored him.

She waddled out one day while he was working in the garden. She heard him singing and it wasn't Leon Kennedy. It was off key but wonderful. And she was pretty sure it was Carry on my Wayward Son. Which…made her grin.

She called, "I'm going to go up the hill to Molly's. She's got a loaf of soda bread for me."

"You want me to come with you?"

He was in a white t-shirt and those old jeans she loved. He hadn't shaved so his face was all shadow and depth. She moved into him and kissed him, long and slow. He caught her face to hold her.

She said, "I always come with you."

And he laughed. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her. It was a good feeling and made her feel full and shivery.

She went up the hill to Molly's house. They had tea and little biscuits while they watched him down in the valley working. Molly watched her face.

"What is in you, Jilly? Your soul is sad?"

"Not sad. Scared."

"Why scared?"

"Sometimes I think he'll do whatever I want just to make me happy. I don't want to trap him. I don't want to use him. I don't want to lose him either. It's hard. And scary."

Molly took her hands and met her eyes, "He looks happy to me, Jilly girl. Look at him down there whistling and singing…badly…that is a happy boy-o. He's got all he's ever wanted in his life right here. He likely hasn't been this happy since he danced in the ring o'fairies."

And that's how she knew where to go. She took him to the ring o'fairies. It was worth the walk to see his face when they came upon it. He threw his head back and laughed and laughed like a little kid.

"How'd you know?!"

"Molly."

He moved through the sun and shade dappled light. His face, the expression, so beautiful. Like he'd never seen anything more amazing. His fingers touched the little rocks, the little toadstools, and he was a boy again. He was a little boy. A beautiful little boy that had more mischief in him than anything else.

He put his hand out for her and she came toward him. Chris touched her belly, rubbing it. "I cannot believe you found this place. Jill…why?"

"I want you to be happy. I know there's a distance between us that we keep trying to bridge, Chris. We're just not the same people we were then. But I don't want you to feel like you have to do any of this…ANY of it, just to make me happy. Let me make you happy for once. You've spent so long trying to do it for me. Let me bring you some magic in your ring o'fairies."

"Jill," Breathless, he knelt in the ring o'fairies and kissed her belly, "I couldn't be any happier than I am. If I was, I'd probably blow up and die from it. You've always been my magic, Jill Valentine. Don't you know that?"

They held each other close and laughed together in the dappled forest.

She went into labor on a Tuesday morning. It was a cool fall morning. The misty, foggy sky was chilly and perfect. She was hanging the laundry on the line outside.

He was working on the gutters with his shirt tucked in his back pocket while he manipulated sheet metal. He was whistling. And he said, "This looks a lot easier on tv, just saying. Of course, so does porn."

When she said nothing, he rolled his head around. And he'd never forget that feeling. She was on her hands and knees on the ground and he felt a panic like nothing he'd ever known in his life. He leapt off the ladder and ran.

He didn't even strain under the weight of her as he picked her up and moved. There was no talking now. Nothing.

The delivery was long and painful. It was a good sized baby and she was small. But she was also athletic. And the power of her body helped the process go as smoothly as possible.

He surprised the hell out of her. He wasn't just a champ about it. He was hilarious. He kept her laughing as she pushed and grabbed his hands and threw filthy names at him. Bullet proof, his good nature made the nurses and the doctor laugh with him.

"You will NEVER touch me again!" She screamed as she bared down.

And he laughed, scooping her hair off her face. "You have a watermelon popping out of your body right now, Jilly Bean. I'm not feeling particularly frisky at the moment. It would be like a tossing a hotdog down a hallway after that big bastard popping out."

Jill grabbed his face and was sweaty, grunting, and showing her teeth. She ground out, "Keep laughing, you big idiot, I'm going to hit you in the head with a watermelon."

He didn't look the least bit offended. "Can I eat it afterward?"

"I'm going to kill you!"

And he laughed, kissing her sweaty nose.

The doctor said, excitedly, "That's good, Jill. One more big push. Just one."

Chris moved to the foot of the bed to watch it happen. And Jill thought, wildly, that look on his face. It was amazing. It was hilarious. It was so him. He looked up at her and said, "Jill! It looks like a plagas! Maybe you should NOT push it out."

And she laughed. She just laughed.

Their son was born with laughter and a big head of bright red hair. She watched him there, exhausted and thrilled. He cut the cord and held the little dude covered in gross shit. He said, "You look like a greasy turd, my dude."

And the baby stopped squalling to look at him. He held that look, feeling the sweat on his back. He felt, it was possible, that the baby was judging him. It was a very Jill kinda look. He wondered if he'd cut the mustard. It was, entirely possible, he would cut the cheese. He was pretty nervous.

And he said, "Is it the dude remark? You appear to have a penis. So, I'm pretty sure you're a dude. You want to be my dude?"

Time passed, scaring him to death.

And the baby belched. It was a good answer.

He glanced up at Jill, grinning. And she was crying. He started to say something funny and his dude grabbed his finger. He glanced down at him and that was it. It was just it. He laughed and it was a wet laugh. He said, "Well shit."

And then? Jill thought. Well then, her guy cried. He cried. He cried holding that tiny flame haired baby. And it was everything in the world that mattered. It was all that was good and real and wonderful. He tucked that filthy little greasy turd of a baby into his body and cried while he laughed.

She gestured and he brought the turd over to her. He kissed her head and dropped fat tears on her. She lifted her hand to cup his face. She said, "Chris Redfield, you big squish. I'm on to you."

Chris laughed wetly and kissed her.

While she slept, Chris sat in the chair holding the baby. The baby wouldn't stop looking at him. Weren't babies supposed to sleep all the time? This one just kept staring.

He said, "You look like Claire."

The dude wouldn't let go of his finger either. It was a Redfield thing. They just didn't let go. He said, "I want to keep you. Don't tell anyone though. They'll all laugh at me." And he kissed that tiny mouth.

And Jill, pretending to sleep, felt her heart swell like the Grinch, three sizes too big.

The dude was a tit man. He loved to eat. He was always lodged on her breasts. Chris said, one day while he was eating, "Thems my boobs, brother. Best not use them all up."

And the dude seemed to growl at him against her breast. Jill laughed. Chris said, "Boob man. Can't blame him."

She lifted her eyes sweetly and said, "I have two boobs, Redfield."

"….awesome. Now I'm fucking hard and I can't even do anything about it. Well played, Valentine." He stuck his tongue in her mouth to torture them both, adjusted his aching junk, and walked off laughing.

He was big and awkward and impossibly sweet. He changed diapers like he was fighting zombies, all swift and tough about it. He bathed the baby like the most delicate man on earth. He washed him in the sink while the baby watched him, judging.

"You stare a lot, my dude. What for? I know the face isn't all that great. But you're making me feel like the elephant man here."

The baby considered this. And then? The baby smiled at him.

Chris almost dropped him in the water. From the doorway, Jill watched them, nearly thunderstruck with love. Chris grinned back at him. "You little shit, you laughing at me?"

And the baby kept on smiling. Chris figured, maybe that's what pure fucking love looked like. And he kissed that smiling mouth.

They named him Jack after Chris' father. He was a patient baby. He seemed to be studying them to learn them. He filled up their world and left it bursting.

One day while Jack was sleeping, Jill went up into the attic to get her quilt she was working on. Chris was up there already and working on something. She went around the corner to get her crocheting needles.

And he was there with a tiny little paintbrush and his tongue stuck between his teeth.

He was painting a doll house.

A doll house.

It was what he'd been making out there that day with Steve and Claire. Not a crib. A doll house.

She froze, watching him. He turned and laughed, shrugging. "So the secrets out huh? You caught me red handed…literally." He lifted his hand to show the red paint. "Can't paint for shit clearly."

She felt the world roll and shift around her. She felt the tears fill her eyes. She said, quietly, "You're making a doll house."

"Yeah."

"We had a boy."

"So, we did." He held her gaze now, watching her, "It's not for him. It's for you."

"What?"

"It's for you, Jill. You deserve a fucking doll house. And?" He lifted the tiny dolls in the house. Him, her, Claire and Steve and the baby. And what looked suspiciously like Leon Kennedy possibly being hung by his neck in the gallows. "Better than napkins with ketchup huh? Though not by much. I can build a house. But this small? Probably looks like hammered shit."

Oh my god.

She moved toward him and he was still talking. "So the door opens and closes pretty good. I'm working on getting the lights to work inside. And don't look at this…" It was probably a licker doll. It had brains and looked like talons. He tossed it aside coughing. "That was…for me. Since I apparently play with dolls."

He set down the paint, "You know me though. I can't paint for shit. So the house looks like tore up ass. But it's the thought that counts I think."

She went to her knees and slid between his arms. He said, quietly, "You'll get paint on you."

"I don't give a fuck. Shut up." And he laughed. But he stopped laughing when she took his face. Because she was crying.

"Look at me."

And he said, quietly, "I'm looking at you."

"I'm in love with you."

She watched that echo across his face. And he tried to move away but she held him still. "Stop. I mean it. I'm in love with you. Just you. Just you. There is no more him in me. He hasn't been there in a long time." Her voice was emphatic, impassioned, and scared him to death with it.

"It's just a doll house, Jill."

"No. It's not just a doll house, you blithering idiot."

"Your romantic speeches need work."

She laughed, "It's you. Don't you understand? It was you all those years ago and you just…you stopped. You stopped. And I stopped. And we stood still. But it was always you. I let you. I let you stop and settled there in a place where we could never have each other. I let you push for the fight and forget me."

"I never forgot you." And he sounded emphatic now and desperate with it. He grabbed her face. "I NEVER forgot you. I forgot what matters more than fighting is what you're fighting for. I forgot that. But I never forgot, Jill, that it was ALWAYS you. Always."

He meant it. He meant every word. And she loved him so much. It hurt and healed and raised her from the dead. The phoenix from her own ashes. She said, "You're the only part of me unbroken. The only part. I won't let you keep deflecting me. You won't keep denying me. I want you to listen and understand me when I say that I LOVE you. It's all I can feel and see and want. You love me like nothing I can begin to understand. And you made me a doll house. For a little girl that never had dolls. Because you don't just listen to me, Chris. You hear me. You hear me when I talk. And you remember."

He said nothing now, enthralled a little with the look on her face.

"You remember everything about me. You never forget. You never hurt me with it. And you never, ever let go." She took his hand and put it against her chest. "This is me not letting go. This is me telling you, there is no more room in me for anyone but you. I'm so in love with you. I can't imagine ever loving anyone more. Ever."

And even now, she thought, he was trying to hide from her. Even now. He was afraid. The guy who feared nothing. The guy who raced into the fire and picked up the sword. He was afraid to let her in. "Mine. That's what you are. Mine. Let me love you. Let me love you, Chris Redfield. Like you love me."

He was looking at her like she might have grown a second head. And he was afraid of that head. So, she did what she knew how to do. And she pulled a Chris Redfield on him.

She pushed him to the floor and jerked up her skirt. He made a sound and she shook her head, pushing against his collarbone to hold him down. The power of it had him going rock hard in a second. Painfully hard. She jerked at his zipper, shifted her panties to the side, and sank onto his body. It was a handful of moments, it was ungodly hot. And his hands came up when he gasped to grab her hips.

She killed him. She went straight into a wild ride that killed him. She held him down and rode him like a stallion. Or a rodeo bull. Or a goddess. He didn't fucking care. She pushed her hands down on his chest and went to town on his body. His hands grabbed her hips and held on. It was all he could do.

He realized he was making some kind of grunting groan that was desperate and mad. And she grabbed his face to jerk him up to kiss her. He rolled, threw her back against the support beam behind them and plowed into her. She grabbed it behind her head, he grabbed her shoulders to drive her down on his body. Somebody kept cursing under their breath from it. It was him. And he didn't care.

Jill arched and bucked and cried out, "I love you!"

And he was done. He was just done. He came inside of her gasping, pumping. And she went, spasming and sucking him in. Their tongues swirled, wet and slow with each other. They fell onto the floor in a heap.

He grunted, shifting a little. "I should have gave you a fucking doll house years ago."

She laughed, wrapping her arms around him. "You big softie. You wonderful thing. Why are you so good to me?"

"Because you fuck like a porn star. And you make waffles. And you keep putting your hands on my dick. And you keep shouting I LOVE YOU CHRIS REDFIELD. Sometimes so loud it scares the neighbors. So that's pretty special."

And she laughed, loving him.

At dinner, she mashed up Jack's peas and gave him his spoon. His tower of red hair was always so funny to see. It stuck up in twelve different places. He seemed to be considering waging war on the peas. He finally struck them with his spoon and watched them splatter.

And he let out a belly laugh that made her eyes misty.

Chris said, conversationally, "Such a smart kid. Beat the shit out of it, my dude. That's how it's done. No bullshit."

Jack gave him a gummy grin. He picked up some peas in his fist.

Chris eyed him, "Don't do it, kid. You'll pay the price."

Jack considered, all wild red hair and blue eyes. They watched each other. It was like gunslingers in the old west. And Jack threw the peas at him.

"Thems fightin peas, my dude. It's on." Chris laughed, grabbed him from his seat and blew on his belly. Jack was squealing and laughing and wiggling. Jill felt it roll through her and heal her soul.

He attacked Jack until the baby grabbed his ears and slobbered on his face. Defeated, Chris kissed him. He just…he kissed him. And Jill thought there had never been a better moment in all the world.

Chris said, "I lost. Defeated by my own kid. A sad moment for me. The fall of the hero."

"A happy one for me." Jill knelt to kiss him. Her face, he thought, the way she'd been looking at him. Like what? Like he was everything.

He kinda felt like he was.

Jack sucked on his nose. Chris looked at his face. "Gross, my dude. Gross. Remember: pick your friends, pick your nose, don't pick your friends nose."

Jack seemed to take this truth as gospel and belched.

"His father's brains, clearly."

Jill said, "I'm going to run into town tomorrow morning for a bit. You need anything?"

"Nada. You want to take Jack?"

"No. You keep him."

"Alright. But last time he shit his pants four times, Jill. I can't be wrist deep in poop all day. I have doll houses to paint."

Jill laughed a little.

It was impossible to describe the love in that house. It radiated, it rolled. It was laughter and love and light. Jack started walking and Chris had to chase him and carry him like a sack under his arm.

He chased him up the hill to Molly's house one morning and she was thrilled to keep him and show him all the bugs in her garden. He didn't miss the fight at all. Which surprised the hell out of him. He just didn't. He coordinated on missions constantly. But he didn't feel the fire to pick up the sword.

He fought for so long. Why was it so easy to let go of it now?

Jill came up the hill after him, laughing. "What are you doing up there?"

Chris laughed as well, shrugging. "Jack and Jill went up the hill, clearly."

Amused, she just moved into him. The breeze tickled her face and he kissed her. It never failed to leave him breathless to do it. He longed for her and there was no regret now. There was nothing but the long spill of heart and hope inside of him that was all Jill.

Jill put Jack to bed that night and climbed in beside him. He opened his arm and she curled against his chest. He kissed her forehead, reading the terrible celebrity gossip that he loved so much on his phone. His secret obsession was all the rags that shouted about abortions and divorces and who had a face lift.

She said, "Do you want to go back to work?"

He lowered his phone and looked at her. "What now?"

"I feel like I manipulated you into staying here. Do you want to go back?"

Chris laughed and shook his head. He pulled her on top of him and played with her naked breasts. She shivered, mirroring the move on his chest. "No. Hah. No." And she lifted her brows at him. He added, "Seriously. I just thought about that today. I'm not interested in it. We find Wesker? Yeah. That will be what brings it full circle. But right now? Jill..you're it. You and Jack. You're the tits. The cat's pajamas. There's nowhere else I want to be."

Jill watched his face and said, "You sure?"

"Positive. Why?"

And she laughed now. "Because you still have the sex figured out, Chris Redfield. But you haven't figured out about the condoms."

He blinked. She kept on grinning.

"…are you fucking kidding me?"

And now she laughed again. She laughed. "Nope."

"…Jill…that fucking kid out there is like…nine months old. What is this shit you're telling me?"

"That you get to have another one in about in about four months."

She watched his face. And saw it. She saw the moment he started laughing. He just laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

His hand settled over her belly. It was just a little round at the bottom. Lord have mercy, he thought, this is what life looked like when you stopped fighting.

"You trying to make me the oldest grandpa in history?"

"Me? I keep doing this to myself?"

And he laughed again and rolled her beneath him. "Jill Valentine…stop getting pregnant."

"I would. If you ever figured out how to use a rubber."

He laughed and kissed her, long and slow and deep. "You ever considered…birth control maybe?"

"You ever considered pulling out?"

"….what the fuck? No. I'm a guy. Why would I?"

"Well this is what happens when you don't."

"Clearly. At this rate we'll have fifty kids before it's done."

Horrified, she met his eyes. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. You could…get a vasectomy."

He shuddered. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

And she laughed and held him close. "Happy?"

"Can't think of a reason not to be. Jack is pretty stinky but I'm keeping him. What's one more after that? Bring it. I like a challenge."

Jill giggled a little and he loved it. He loved it. And he loved her. Like the fire of a thousand suns, loved her. He watched her roll to the edge of the bed and shake that heart shaped ass at him as she dug around for something in the nightstand.

He figured, fuck it, and rolled up on the bed. She was saying, "So I went into town the other morning to the doctor, clearly. And everything is good. But I also stopped off and made some changes to my n—"

He shoved into her so fast and hard that she dropped what was in her hand, screamed with it, and grabbed the bed to hold on. He grabbed her hips and jerked into a nearly insane pace. It was wet and fast and hard and wonderful. She was slapping back against him and coming in the first three thrusts. He made it five, maybe, and filled her up.

And he pulled out of her, slapped her pert little ass, and flopped onto his back.

She laid face down on the bed, used up and gasping. Holy hell, she thought, he was such an alpha male. What was that? It didn't matter. Her body ached in a hundred wonderful ways.

Chris, breathing hard and heavy, picked up the thing she'd dropped on the bed.

It was her little driver's license. It had her adorable little picture and her birthday and her height and weight. Did she only weigh 112 pounds? Crazy. He had over a hundred pounds on her on a good day. And it had her name.

Well it kinda had her name.

Sorta.

He said, reverently, "You changed your name."

Jill rolled over, still shivering from the pounding he'd given her. "No. I just took yours."

He grabbed her and pulled her into him. He held her face. "Ours. It's our name. Jill…why?"

"I told you. I never felt good enough to take it. Now? Now I do. You made me a doll house. You keep holding on. I took your name. Because I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be then yours."

And there it was, she thought, the tears in his eyes. Such a big soft man. There it was. He said, "I love you so much, Jill. God damn it scares the shit out of me."

She laughed, holding his face. "It should. But it should humble you too."

"Every minute of every day it humbles me. I don't deserve you."

"Shut up, you idiot."

"I don't. But, by god, I don't care. I'm keeping you. Even if it means filling your belly with fifty babies."

"Jesus, stop scaring me."

They laughed and he pulled her down to hold her. She held him tight, spilling little wet tears down onto his chest. "You're all the love I need somehow, Chris Redfield. I never want to wake up. I'm pretty sure if I do, you won't be here."

"Jill…Jill…" And he laughed, wetly, "You leave me breathless. I'm gonna spend the rest of my life loving you…Jill Redfield. It sounds nuckin futts to sat it out loud. You love me, kid?"

"I can't do anything but you love you, you blithering idiot. Even if you're too dumb to use a condom."

"Maybe I like you fat with my kids in your belly." He rubbed her little belly now, lost in the wonder of her. He was going to eight thousand years old when he was a grandpa but he couldn't seem to give a fuck.

"You just like the big boobs, you dirty old lecher."

"I do. I do indeed. Keep holding on me to me, kid."

"I will. I will. Chris? Don't let go, ok? I'm afraid if you let go of me, I'll just disappear."

"Have you met me, Jill Val..." And now he laughed a little," Jill REDFIELD? I could say that shit all day, PS. I don't know how to do anything but hold on. Even if you get fat with fifty of my babies and I can't get my arms around your blubber anymore, I'll still keep holding on."

"That is the worst speech anyone, ever, gave the mother of his children."

"I have my moments. I fucking love you, Jill." And he kissed her belly.

And for the first time in her life, she wasn't afraid of what it meant to just hold on and believe…as long as it didn't involve giving birth to fifty babies. Although looking at his face, feeling him beside her, she thought maybe...just maybe...she'd be ok with fifty more of him in the world. It meant, somewhere out there, there would be fifty more very lucky women just waiting to find their own Chris Redfield. Seemed like a pretty awesome way to leave the world a better place.


End file.
